


Play It Again, Herc

by Amorette



Category: Hercules: The Legendary Journeys
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-13
Updated: 2015-08-13
Packaged: 2018-04-14 14:19:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 32,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4567722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amorette/pseuds/Amorette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ian Farney was an accountant.  Surely that big guy was wrong when he claimed Ian was the reincarnation of a hero from ancient Greece.  Or was he?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The accountant

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was written in 2000 to the technical references are WAY out-of-date. Even older than Ian.

PLAY IT AGAIN, HERC  
by Amorette 

Ian took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose, feeling rather pleased with himself. All the numbers added up perfectly, to the penny. There was nothing quite as delightful as the feeling he got when the columns and figures all balanced. He had to be one of the finest. . .no, strike that. . .he was the finest certified public accountant in the firm of Feldman, Finch, Phillips and Farney.

He reached for his tea and took a sip, grimacing at the bitter taste. He had left the tea bag in too long but he often did that, his mind distracted by the dancing numbers that filled his computer screen. Yawning, he stretched and glanced at his watch. 

Good grief! It was after midnight. The project had taken him longer than he had anticipated. Florence would be furious. She had told him to call no later than nine o’clock if he expected to ask her to dinner on Saturday. Now here it was, fourteen minutes after twelve. She’d make him pay for this. She probably won’t speak to him until Sunday night and any hope he had of getting lucky this weekend was completely gone.

Ian sighed, putting on his glasses and straightening his tie. He really had hoped Florence might accommodating this weekend. It has been quite some time since they had. . .well, no point in thinking about that now.

As the computer shut down, he tidied his already neat desk and put some files in his briefcase to take home over the weekend. With Florence mad at him, he could probably get in quite a bit of work and get ahead on the upcoming tax season.

Even knowing his girlfriend was mad at him wasn’t enough to completely ruin Ian’s mood, not after the masterful accounting he had performed that evening. He found himself doing a little dance step, holding his briefcase against his chest, as he entered the elevator.

The security guard in the lobby barely glanced up from his monitors as Ian passed, whistling.

“Night, Mr. Farney.”

“Good night, Bob,” replied Ian, catching the faint aroma of pizza from the guard’s desk. The smell made his stomach growl. Florence didn’t approve of his eating habits. She was a vegan and had him mostly persuaded to a less restrictive version of vegetarianism but just at the moment, he found his mouth watering at the thought of a thick slice of cheese covered pizza with pepperoni.

The parking lot was usually well-lit but tonight it was dark. Ian registered that a row of lights were out but it didn’t concern him. Eugene wasn’t exactly a high-crime town and this was hardly a high-crime area. Besides, he had taken those martial arts courses when he was in college and he prided himself on his regular work-out schedule. While most of his fellow accountants tended to wide rear ends and spreading stomachs Ian Farney was not going to be one of those, no siree. . .

Three figures sprang out from behind one of those huge sport truck things that all the yuppies were driving these days. Ian’s whistling died in a yelp as he swung his briefcase as a weapon, smacking one of his assailants on the shoulder as the startled accountant managed to spin free of six outstretched hands.

The next seconds passed both very quickly and very slowly. He felt his briefcase wrenched from his hand and he saw the glint of light on metal in the hand of one of the men attacking him. Desperately, he tried to strike out, suddenly fearful of more than losing his wallet, when a shadow loomed over him and a pleasant, calm masculine voice said, “Naughty naughty.”

The shadow belonged to a very tall, broad-shouldered man, who picked up two of Ian’s attackers by the collars of their jackets and casually butted their heads together, as if this was the sort of thing he did all the time. Tossing them unconscious to the ground, he turned to the assailant with the knife and grabbed the man’s arm, bending it backwards until the knife dropped from the man’s fingers and he howled in pain.

The third man, the instant Ian’s rescuer released him, turned and ran. The tall man chuckled, shaking his head.

“Same all over, isn’t it?” he said, his tone friendly, as if he and Ian were just picking up a conversation they had dropped earlier.

“Um, yeah, I guess.” Ian swallowed, aware of how his entire body was shaking.

Taking Ian by the shoulders, the tall man turned him around so that Ian was facing the light. “You look terrible,” said the man. “They didn’t hurt you, did they?”

“No.” Ian took a deep, trembling breath. “No. And thanks, thanks very much.“

The man laughed. “No problem. So, where’s your car?”

Ian pointed to a beige Volvo sedan. The tall man walked over to it, Ian having to practically run to keep up with the stranger’s long strides.

“That’s your car?” He sounded incredulous.

Ian, who had defended his choice of transportation before, replied defiantly, “It is a very practical, very safe, vehicle. Highest government crash test rating. Dual airbags, too, and lots of trunk room.”

“Lovely.” 

The man walked around to the passenger side door and waited. It took Ian a moment to realize he expected Ian to unlock the door and give him a ride. For an instant, Ian was shocked. He had never picked up a hitchhiker in this life and who was this strange man who just casually expected Ian to give him a lift. Then Ian remembered. This was the very large, very strong strange man who just saved Ian’s bacon. He unlocked the car.

As the settled into the car, the man having to adjust his seat considerably back, he said, “I just need a ride to my car.”  
“  
Oh.” Ian didn’t ask him what he had been doing in the office block parking lot if his car wasn’t there. He checked his mirrors, as usual, even though no one besides him ever drove the Volvo.

“My name’s Harry,” said the man, settling back into the seat. “Harry Leo.” 

Ian was unaware of how sharply Mr. Leo was studying him since Ian was busy fastening his seat belt.

“Ian Farney,” returned Ian. “Better buckle up.”

“Oh, right.” Mr. Leo did as he was told. “Working late?”

“Yes. I’m with Feldman, Finch, Phillips and Farney.”

“Law firm?”

“Certified public accountants.”

“Really?” Mr. Leo sounded amused.

“And you?” Ian wasn’t particularly interested. This man in the seat beside him made Ian nervous in a way he couldn’t explain, in a way that wasn’t entirely related to what had happened minutes before in the parking lot.

“I’m. . .a rancher. In Montana.”

Ian gave the man a sharp glance before pulling out into the empty street. “Ah, wrestling cows and all that.”

The man laughed, flexing his arms. Even under the grey raincoat he was wearing, the muscles were visible.

“So, where did you park?”

“Over by the campus.”

Ian frowned. That was most of the way across town and well out of his way. Then he remembered the flash of light on a knife blade and decided he owed Mr. Harry Leo, rancher from Montana, more than just a lift across town.

“I want to thank you, of course,” said Ian, clearing his throat, a little embarrassed by the whole matter, now that it was over. He hadn’t even called the police just because he didn’t particularly want to explain how the big man had rescued him.

“No problem. They weren’t much of a threat. They were just hoping you’d back down without a fight.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“I’ve seen it before.”

There didn’t seem to be much to say, so Ian concentrated on his driving as obviously as possible, although there was almost no traffic in Eugene at this hour, even on a Friday night. It did get busier as they got closer to the campus. Because he was focusing on his driving, Ian didn’t notice how Harry Leo was staring at him with a look of almost desperate intensity, as if he were trying to send some sort of a psychic message to the the accountant.

“I’m parked over there.” Mr. Leo pointed to an all night diner popular with the college kids. “The red car in the last row, on the end.”

The red car in the last row was some sort of fancy, low slung sports car. Ian knew absolutely nothing about that sort of car beyond understanding it was very expensive, very fast, and not the sort of car a certified public accountant in Eugene, Oregon was likely to drive. There was an empty spot right next to the red car so Ian pulled into it, feeling suddenly ashamed of his practical car, something he had never felt before.

“Are you hungry, Ian?” asked Mr. Leo as he unbuckled his seat belt. “I’m starving and this being a college place, the servings here are pretty decent.”

Ian was about to deny any peckishness at all when his stomach answered for him. He was forced to grin at the other man and shrug.

As they walked inside, Ian found he could pace himself to keep up with the other man’s long stride and he did so without conscious effort. He was conscious, however, of just how tall Mr. Leo the rancher from Montana. . .the successful rancher from Montana based on his car and the expensive clothes he wore. . .was.

They took a table with chairs, since Mr. Leo was too tall to fit comfortably into a booth. The young waitress was at their side almost immediately, smiling hugely at the two men. Mr. Leo just asked if they served breakfast twenty-four hours a day and when she said they did, he ordered bacon and eggs, with toast and hash browns, coffee and a large orange juice. For a wavering moment, Ian considered Florence and his cholesterol before finding himself saying, “The same for me, please.”

“So, Ian,” began Mr. Leo, leaning comfortably back in his chair, “life busy for an accountant in Eugene?”

Ian started to reply formally before being gently corrected to “Call me Harry.” He found himself babbling a little, having difficulty concentrating, which was unusual for him. There was just something so disconcerting about this man with the intense blue eyes, who kept staring at Ian as if he expected Ian to suddenly sprout wings or turn green or do something a good deal more interesting than chat about capital gains depreciation on rental properties.

When the food arrived, Ian was relieved and tucked into it, amazed at how hungry he was. He couldn’t remember the last time he had had a fried egg or bacon. Not since he started dating Florence five years ago, that for certain. She would never have allowed him to set foot in a place like this, let alone order food like this. Although he was concentrating on his plate, he did glance up now and then at his dining companion.

The waitress was extremely solicitous and Ian could guess why. Harry was a strikingly handsome man, without the slightest sense of vanity about him. He had a square jaw, high forehead, straight brown hair worn rather long but then he was a cowboy or some such thing, and a wide mouth that smiled easily as he flirted with the waitress. As Harry’s coffee was refilled again and Ian’s wasn’t, Ian remembered that there had been a time in his life when he was pretty good at flirting, too. A couple of bad relationships and five years with Florence had put an end to that and Ian was aware he was painfully out of practice.

The two men polished off their food quickly and efficiently, with as much alacrity as the twenty-year-old college students at the other tables. 

“My,” murmured the waitress, refilling both coffee cups this time, “You boys must work out a lot to keep in such good shape and still manage to eat like that.”

Ian, to his own surprise, winked at her and said, yes, he did manage a little exercise now and then, pleased to see her return the wink. Then, as she turned her back, he yawned hugely, in spite of the coffee.

Checking his watch, he knew why. He hadn’t been up this late since the big tax change year of ‘96.

“Well,” he said, stifling another yawn as he reached for the check, “This was very pleasant but it is awfully late.”

“Yeah, it is.” Harry Leo seemed very disappointed for some reason. “Later than I thought,” he added, almost under his breath.

Ian insisted on getting the check, then excused himself to use the men’s room, hoping that Harry would be gone when he got back. After all, there was no reason for the other man to linger.

Washing his hands, Ian yawned again and decided he better splash some cold water on his face to help wake himself up for the drive home. He slipped his glasses into their case in his jacket pocket and bent over, grateful that the sink was shining and clean, and rubbed icy water on his face as briskly as he could, then straightened and looked at his reflection in the mirror over the sink.

His heart skipped a beat! What had happened to him? He ran his wet hands through his close-cropped hair. When on earth had he gotten that hair cut and where was his earring?

The men’s room spun around Ian for a moment as he clutched at the edge of sink. He hadn’t had long hair since he was a history major. He got it cut when he switched to accounting and hadn’t let it get long enough to cover the tops of ears in fifteen years. And Ian Andrew Farney had certainly never had an earring. And yet, he turned his head slightly in the mirror, picturing clearly a small gold hoop in one ear.

“Ian?” It was Harry Leo again. “Are you all right? You look white as a sheet?”

Harry was standing just inside the door, looking at him.

Ian stammered, “Fine, just tired,” and tossed away the paper towel he had used to dry his hands. What would a certified public accountant in a reputable firm being doing wearing a gold hoop in one ear?

Ian walked out to his car, aware of Harry’s bulk following him. He reached for the door handle and caught his reflection in the glass, his face with Harry’s behind it, and the parking lot took a spin much like the one the men’s room had.

“Hey.” Harry Leo had an arm under Ian’s to steady him. “I don’t think you’re up to driving. It’s been a long night, you know.”

Ian tried to disagree but couldn’t. Why on earth had that reflection affected him so much? He had been surprised again by the length of his hair but there had been another thought fleeting through his head, the thought it was sure was comforting to see him again. He turned to look at Harry in the harsh light from the diner’s sign.

“Do I know you? I mean, have we met before this? I just have this feeling of, I don’t know, deja vu.”

Harry’s whole demeanor changed, as if some great weight had been lifted from his shoulders, although shoulders that broad could carry considerable weight.

He grinned. “Ian, I think we do know each other. I think we knew each other a long time ago, don’t you?”

“I. . .I couldn’t say but. . .” 

“Come on, I’ll drive you home. You look exhausted and it’s the least I can do for you.”

“Hey, I’m the one who should be handing out favors.”

The two men smiled at each other over the top of Harry’s sports car.

“I’ll give you a lift home and you can catch a cab to get your, ah, car tomorrow.”

Ordinarily, Ian would never have dreamed of doing such a thing but this had not been an ordinary night. And Harry was right, Ian was so tired he could hardly keep his eyes open. Besides, how often did a guy like Ian Farney get to ride in a car like this.

Harry’s car had leather seats, so deeply padded Ian actually sank into them. He had wanted leather seats in the Volvo but Florence would have had a fit. She hated internal combustion engines as it was.

The car’s engine roared softly to life, like a well fed lion. Ian managed to give Harry directions to his house, although it took a considerable effort to do so. After the adrenaline highs of his perfect spreadsheet and then the attack, Ian’s system crashed and before the car was on the street, Ian’s head was slumped to one side and he was snoring.

Harry Leo ignored the directions Ian had given him and headed straight for the highway. It had taken him so long to find Ian, he wasn’t going to risk losing him by taking him home and then making a slow approach to introducing himself. It was too late for that.

Ian slept peacefully in the car, dreaming dreams unlike those that filled the heads of most accountants. He was dreaming of strong men and brave women, fierce monsters and dangerous warriors, with only the occasional side foray into calculating exchange rates. 

While he slept, Harry had taken them well away from Eugene, heading east, driving skillfully, although he did glance now and then over at his sleeping companion and smile. Once, he leaned forward and carefully opened the glove compartment by Ian’s knee, taking a velvet pouch, held shut by a drawstring, out of the compartment and laying it gently on Ian’s lap.

The sun was rising when Ian finally stirred and started to stretch, stopping abruptly at the cramp in his neck. He opened his eyes and yelped.

“Good morning,” said Harry cheerfully, not taking his eyes off the road.

Ian stared open mouth at the scenery around him. They had to be a couple of hundred miles from Eugene. He was being kidnapped. He knew it. The big guy was too good to be true. And he could guess why. It had to be one of the big accounts he was working on. Somebody, maybe Mrs. Hooper and that ‘apple farm’ of hers which was really a cover for some drug-smuggling operation or the Johnson family, always importing ‘mustard’ from Canada. 

Or. . .Ian shot a terrified look at his captor. Ian had always been relatively small and fairly attractive and there had been occasions in his youth when he had had to reject advances from older men. Harry looked to be Ian’s age or younger but the effect was the same, someone bigger wanting something Ian had no intention of giving. He felt sick and scrabbled for the door handle.

“Automatic locks,” Harry announced, his voice still cheerful. “Besides, at this speed, you’d have a hard landing on the pavement.”

“What do you want?”

“Believe it or not, Ian, I want to help you. You’ve gotten. . .off course in your life and I’m here to bring you back on.”

Oh, great, thought Ian. Worse than drug dealers or sex perverts, a religious fanatic.

One of Harry’s large hands reached towards Ian, who pressed himself frantically back into the seat. Harry’s index finger touched the bag on Ian’s lap.

“Open that.”

Suspiciously, as if he expected it to contain a viper, Ian unknotted the string and pulled the throat of the little bag open. He reached in and pulled out some sort of medallion on a leather cord. It was a sinuous design of a stylized, two-headed snake, curving back on itself, carved of smooth, dark stone, heavy for its size. At some time, it had been broken and Ian could feel the seam where someone had mended it. His fingers caressed it, while strange thoughts crossed his mind, thoughts related to the odd dreams he had had.

“What is it?”

“It’s yours.”

“No, I mean what is it? It looks like a petrified pretzel.”

“It’s just what it looks like and it used to belong to you, a long, long time ago. Put it on.”

When a very large, very strong , very likely insane man has you in his power, you do as you’re told. Ian dropped the cord around his neck, the medallion coming to rest against his tie. Florence gave him that tie, navy blue, with little green dollar signs on it. Would he ever see Florence again?

Beside him, Harry sighed. “Not like that. Under your shirt. It needs to be next to your skin.”

“Why?”

“It isn’t drugged, or something, if that’s what you are worried about. Look, I know this is a bizarre situation but trust me, just do as I ask.”

The odd thing was, in some strange way, Ian did trust Harry. It made no sense. The man had kidnapped him. But he had also saved him and there was something about Harry that Ian couldn’t pinpoint but it made him unbutton his shirt collar and loosen his tie, then slip the large medallion or amulet or whatever the thing was down under his shirt. It tickled a little, cool against his skin, as it slid down and came to rest just above his heart. Ian unbuttoned one shirt button so he could put his fingers inside and trace the design.

Harry was hard pressed to keep his eye on the road as he watched the puzzled accountant. Ian had slumped in the seat, his chin pressed against his chest, one hand inside his shirt rather like a Brooks Brothers version of Napoleon.

“Harry.”

“Yes.”

Ian didn’t answer. He closed his eyes, not in sleep but in concentration. When he spoke again, his voice was distant.

“This was given to my father by my grandmother.” He wasn’t asking. He was stating. “And he gave it to me a long time ago.”

Harry, his voice soft, replied, “Yes. A very long time ago.”

Ian sat up sharply, pulling his hand out of his shirt. “This is ridiculous.”

Harry sighed again. “Well, to most people, yes, it would appear so. And I would never, ever attempt to explain to anybody what I am going to explain to you, because nobody else would understand. but I am hoping, really, really hoping, that you, Ian Andrew, understand.”

Ian didn’t register that Harry, a man he had met mere hours before, knew his middle name, even though Ian had never mentioned it. He looked out the window, then over at the driver, and had that odd feeling again. It had first come to him when Harry’s shadow had loomed over him in the parking lot. Ian had known instantly, and without a doubt, that the fourth man was not with the muggers but, quite the opposite, was there to help Ian, to be at his side. Harry’s approach in that parking lot had been a relief in more ways than one. Ian had been relieved that someone had come to help him but even more, Ian had felt relieved that he was there, with Ian, where he belonged.

Ian’s hand slid back inside his shirt to feel the medallion as it warmed to body temperature.

“Give it a shot, Harry. It’s not like I can go anywhere to avoid listening.”

“Okay.” Harry took a deep breath. “You and I know each other. We have known each other a very, very long time. We are--well, there is just no way to say this without sounding New Age and all that crap but here goes--we are old souls and we have been friends for several lifetimes.”

Ian said nothing. He kept picturing the face he had expected to see in the mirror in the diner’s men's room. That face was his but not his. It was older in some ways but younger in others. He had expected more lines around his eyes, lines of laughter, emphasized by a lifetime outdoors. He had expected a more open expression, one of amusement and enjoyment, not the pensive, inward expression of man who thought about his deductions and investments all the time. He had expected to see a man with long, wavy blonde hair, a gold earring and smile. The sight of the rather worn looking man with short hair and a mouth that seemed permanently turned down at the corners had taken him completely by surprise.

“Iolaus.”

Ian had barely whispered the name but at the sound of it, Harry whooped and pounded his hands on the steering wheel. “Yes!” he crowed. “I knew it! I knew you had to be in there somewhere under that button down collar.”

“Who,” Ian asked, looking in the side mirror outside the car window, “is Iolaus?”

“You are.”

The man was so excited, he was positively bouncing in his seat. Normally, Ian would have been distressed to be driving at highway speeds with man who seemed so distracted but that feeling again, that implicit trust in the man beside him, kept him for saying anything. This was not, thought Ian, a normal situation at all.

“Then who,” he asked, “are you?”

“I’m Hercules.”

At that, Ian finally had to let out the rather hysterical laugh that had been building inside ever since he awoke in a stranger’s car. “Not the Hercules? The son of Zeus Hercules? Twelve labors and a lion skin and all that?”

“Ah, well, some of the details of the stories got sort of confused over the years but yeah, that Hercules.”

Ian bit his lip, desperate not to laugh again at the lunatic behind the wheel.

“Wasn't Iolaus the nephew of Hercules? I mean, I read Bullfinch and all that but I don’t remember. . .”

“Forget Bullfinch’s! I told you, a lot of details got screwed up. That’s mythology. You and I were real.”

Oh, boy, thought Ian. This guy has to stop for gas at some point and then I am out of here. All those runs through the rain every morning for exercise are finally going to pay off.

“So.” Ian was using his careful accountant’s voice again. “Hercules and this Iolaus person were. . .”

“Partners. Friends. More than friends.”

Ian groaned inwardly. I knew that was coming.

“We were brothers, really. I mean, I had a real brother, a half-brother, well, not counting all of Zeus’s other children, my mortal half brother, but as far as I was concerned, you were my brother.”

I hope you’re not into incest, was all Ian thought.

Harry kept talking, something about ancient Greece and warriors and brotherhood, while Ian just stared blankly at his stomach. He felt. . odd. And lost. And very, very confused.

“Well, you said you read Bullfinch’s.”

“Huh?”

Harry sighed. He suspected Ian wasn’t listening but hoped that some of what he was saying would sink in. “I said, you were interested in history and mythology, especially ancient Greece, weren’t you?”

“Yeah.” Ian straightened, surprised to find his hand inside his shirt again, tracing the curves of the medallion. “I was a history major in college but my mom convinced me to go into accounting. Better job prospects.”

“Job prospects.” Harry sounded disgusted, which was pretty ironic considering the car he was driving. “But you were interested in that stuff, right?”

Ian shrugged. “Yeah. We lived in D.C. when I was a kid and I loved going to museums. I remember when a big exhibit on Alexander the Great came through, I went eight times.”

Harry relaxed. There was a convenience store ahead and he needed gas. There seemed to be chance that his friend would stay with him. Still, the accountant seemed very much present. Checking the gas gauge, Harry sighed inwardly. There was no choice.

The instant Harry unlocked the doors, Ian threw himself out and started running. Ian was proud of himself. He thought he had made himself look very accepting, slumped down in the seat. Now he could get away from this nut who thought he was a character out of myth.

“Iolaus!”

Ian had reached the side of the convenience store, desperate to get away and even more desperately hoping there was an unlocked rest room nearby, when the voice cut through him. He spun, facing back towards the gas pumps, his knees dropping him into an expectant crouch while his right hand groped for something that wasn’t there.

Harry was standing next to the car, staring at Ian, the handle of the gas pump in one hand. Ian knew, at that instant, that he had to go with this crazy man because the sound of that voice, saying that name, with such desperate urgency, had reached down into his soul in a way he had never experienced before in his life.

Slowly, Ian walked back towards Harry, detouring to go into the store. He used the rest room, vowing never to drink four cups of coffee again in his life just in case another mad man kidnapped him. He carefully avoided looking at his reflection, knowing he would see Iolaus in the mirror, not Ian. In the store proper, he picked up some snacks as casually as if he were always making unexpected cross country drives and set them on the counter next to Harry’s credit card as the big man paid for the gas. Then they walked back to the car and Ian got back inside.


	2. The introductions

They drove in near silence for the rest of the day. Whenever they did speak, it was about when to stop and eat or some other mundane detail. Not once did Harry refer to Hercules and not once did Ian stop thinking about Iolaus. 

They finally stopped for the night in Idaho, at small roadside motel. Ian followed Harry inside, his body numb from hours in the car seat, his mind still confused. Harry got them adjoining rooms. 

He was sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at his shoes, wondering why on earth he had ever bought such an ugly pair of wingtips, when he heard the adjoining door open and Harry entered the room.

“I got some stuff for you,” he said, setting the bag on the bed next to Ian. “Toothbrush and a change of clothes. It’s in the bag.”

Without looking up, Ian said, “I suppose you know my size.”

“Yeah, as matter of fact I do.”

After a long silence, Harry left the room. Ian heard him get ready for bed but he didn’t move himself until after the light had been extinguished in the adjoining room. 

I could leave now, he thought. No, I couldn’t, came another voice in his head. Not now, not after we’ve finally found each other.

Ian showered, hoping the hot water would help relax his stiff muscles. While soaping his chest, he found his hand wrapped around the medallion. All I have to do, he thought, is give this one good tug and the cord will break and I can go back to Feldman, Finch, Phillips and Farney and forget this whole ridiculous episode. He started to pull on the cord, wincing a little as the knot in the leather dug into the back of his neck, but released it before the cord broke.

With his towel wrapped around his waist, Ian wandered back into the main room and opened the bag on the bed, hoping to find the necessary toiletries. They were there but he didn’t see them because, lying on top of the freshly wrapped toothbrush and the brand new clothes, was a very old sword in a battered leather scabbard. His right hand reached out and wrapped around the hilt and he lifted the sword out of the bag.

He knew people who were into Renaissance Fairs and that sort of nonsense. They always had long, elaborate swords, with fancy hilts set with fake jewels. The hilt on his sword was wood, wrapped in leather, and very plain, with a simple, disc-shaped pommel of hammered metal. The scabbard was plain, too, with two tarnished metal ornaments near the top. Grasping the scabbard in his left hand, Ian slowly pulled the sword free. This was what he had been missing when they stopped for gas.

“Good grief,” he muttered, tossing the sword and scabbard onto the cheap dresser as if they were burning his hands. “What would I do with a sword?”

He brushed his teeth, then ended up putting on his shirt and pants since, while there was change of clothes in the bag, there were no pajamas. Ian climbed into the bed, tossing and turning for a few hopeless minutes before that other voice said, hey, compared to sleeping on the ground, this is paradise. A moment later, he was asleep.

The first part of his dream was delightfully erotic, involving a dark-eyed woman dressed in leather and steel. Then there was a brief pause where he was back at work, balancing credits and debits, until someone grabbed him from behind and he was in the middle of a confused fight. The big man was there, and the woman, and another big man, only he was evil and then. . .

Ian woke up gasping, his hands clawing at his chest. When he realized Harry was kneeling next to his bed, he grabbed the man and whimpered, “Call 911. I think I’m having a heart attack.” The damn bacon had caught up to him. He never should have eaten it.

Harry did nothing, just crouched next to the bed, watching Ian. As Ian’s breathing returned to normal, Harry said, “I don’t think it’s a heart attack.”

“No.” Ian swallowed against his dry throat. His chest wasn’t tight. His left arm didn’t hurt. And the pain had been sharp, the pain of dagger driven under his breastbone.

“Easy,” whispered Harry. “The first memories tend to be the tough ones. The good stuff will come later.”

“I. . .I could feel. . .” Ian looked down at his chest, at the medallion lying against it, and could see as clearly as the medallion, the hilt of an ornate dagger protruding from his chest. If he closed his eyes, he could feel it with his fingers, as they wrapped around the fatal knife, aware that all pulling it out would do was hasten his death. Inside, in his chest, he could feel the blade grating against his breastbone, feel the pressure building as his torn heart bled into his chest cavity, feel his lungs start to collapse.

“You were there.” He could barely speak for the pain.

“Yes.” Harry sounded in as much pain as Ian. “I was.”

“And a woman. She was behind me. I. . .I leapt in front of a knife thrown at her and I. . .”

The pain stopped and he opened his eyes, staring at his fist clenched tightly against his chest.

Harry’s voice was soft in his ear. “You saved her life. You gave your life for hers. And yes, I held you in my arms as you died.”

“Your name was the last thing I said, wasn’t it?” Ian looked up into that familiar face. “That was my death, wasn’t it?”

“One of them.”

“One of them? You mean I get to remember more?”

“Well. . .” Harry looked embarrassed. “You got killed a lot. You didn’t tend to stay dead but you did get killed a lot. Although the first lifetime was the only one where that happened. In the other lifetimes, you pretty much only died once.”

Ian dropped back onto the pillows, pressing his hands against his eyes until lights flashed. “What do you mean, other lifetimes?”

“The first time, when we were first together, that was the ancient Greek one. Then, oh, every hundred years or so, we’d come back again and live out that life and die and . . .”

“And start over again. Reincarnation.”

“Yeah. Unfortunately, you do tend to remember your death. Funny thing is, the only lifetime you ever remember clearly is that first one. The others are all sort of fuzzy and vague.”

“How many deaths do I get to remember?”

“I’m not sure. Not all of them, I don’t think. Just the important ones.”

Ian managed a feeble laugh. “Just the important ones.”

“If it makes you feel better, the last time you died in ancient Greece, you were a hundred years old and surrounded by family and friends and died peacefully.”

“Thanks.” Dropping his hand to his sides, Ian stared up into the dark. “What was our last life?”

“Ah, well, it started out in France. . .”

“During the Revolution.”

“Yeah!” Harry sounded very pleased. “Then we were trappers in Canada. . .”

“And I broke both legs and froze to death.”

“Well, yeah. Not one of our better lives, although we did meet each other as kids. It’s always easier when you meet young.”

Ian didn’t say it out loud but he thought, it’s easier when you aren’t expected to abandon an entire life.

Harry patted Ian’s shoulder. “You should rest. Dying is tough.”

“Dying is easy. Comedy is hard.”

Although Ian couldn’t see the big man’s smile, he knew it was there.

To his surprise, Ian slept through dreamlessly until morning, as if his brain simply couldn’t stand any more memories, real or otherwise. The morning, much like the day before, would have appeared perfectly normal to anyone watching Ian and Harry as they checked out of the motel, loaded the car and headed across the road to a little cafe for breakfast. Harry ate as he had the day before, apparently unconcerned with the condition of his arteries but enough of Ian’s common sense reasserted itself that he ordered oatmeal and a grapefruit. It was only as Ian automatically picked up the check and started to verify the addition and calculate the tip that Harry said absentmindedly. “Xena is never going to believe you’re an accountant.”

Ian dropped the check from fingers gone nerveless. That name, which he thought he had never heard before in his life, caused the most peculiar reaction. He felt both incredibly angry and incredibly. . .aroused at the same time.

“Iolaus?” 

“Huh?”

Harry picked up the check. “Are you okay?” He looked quickly around the room. There were only a few other diners and they were all on the other side of the room, chatting with waitress, obviously regulars and oblivious to the two strangers. “Do you remember Xena?”

“I don’t so much remember her as just. . .”

“Feel as if you remember her. Sometimes the emotions are a lot clearer than the memories.”

Ian nodded, breathing deeply, willing both the surge of temper and the surge of desire to ebb away. When he felt fully recovered, he nodded at Harry and they left, Ian so distracted he never even noticed the fifty percent tip his companion left.

“Want to drive?” asked Harry as they approached the car. Ian was startled but replied in the affirmative. It took him several minutes to adjust the seat and mirrors to his liking but when he finally pulled out onto the interstate, he found himself smiling.

“Heck of a car,” he said cheerfully. “I suppose the sort of thing a demigod should drive.”

Harry grimaced. “I hate that word.”

“Well, I suppose it doesn’t apply any more since Zeus certainly can’t be your father in this life.”

“Funny thing about that.” Harry was digging through a duffel bag on his lap. “I guess because of the way I started, some of those abilities that I had to begin with seem to stick around from lifetime to lifetime.”

“So, you’ve got the strength of ten and that sort of thing?”

“Maybe not ten, maybe five or seven. I don’t get tired easily, which is handy. I could have driven straight through but you looked beat.”

“Great. Pity from a demigod.”

Harry made an exasperated sound and, for a brief instant, it was Iolaus who grinned at him from the driver’s seat. The moment passed, though, when Ian started asking him about whether he kept track of his mileage for a business deduction, as if finding a long lost friend counted as a business expense.

Ian drove until lunch, enjoying a car that was nothing like anything he had ever owned or even seriously considered owning. Harry dozed in the passenger seat or read a battered paperback he pulled out of his duffel bag. After lunch, they changed places and Harry drove again. Not once did either of them mention ancient Greece or anything pertaining to it. They chatted about inconsequential things, about Ian’s problem with the plumbing in his condo and Harry told him about the trailer he lived in for a while. 

It was just before dark when Harry, driving on a secondary road in the Montana mountains, turned down a dirt track ill-suited to the sports car and then pulled into the yard of three story Victorian house, complete with turret and balconies. He killed the engine and the two men sat there for a moment, Ian taking in his surroundings, from the house and the outbuildings, to the mountain tops that enclosed the valley.

“Nice place,” said Ian, mentally calculating what it probably cost.

“Belongs to Joxer.”

“Who?”

Before Harry could answer, a thin, rather nerdish man with dark hair sprang off the front porch and ran towards Ian as he got out of the car. Ian was startled as the man threw his arms around him and thumped him solidly on the back.

“It’s you!” the stranger shouted deafeningly, “It’s really you! We thought we’d never find you and here you are!”

“Easy,” said Harry’s voice. “He’s new at this.”

The man pushed Ian away and peered at him, squinting his already narrow eyes. 

“You’re right, Herc. He doesn’t know me.”

Oh, my lord, thought Ian, the wave of panic he had managed to keep under control all day starting to engulf him again, he actually called this guy ‘Herc.’

“Jack Holland, meet Ian Farney.”

Jack stepped back and shook Ian’s hand in a more normal manner. 

“Hey,” Ian was holding Jack’s hand, studying the face. “I know you.”

“See.” Jack grinned at Harry. “He knows me.”

“I mean I know who Jack Holland is. You’re the Jack Holland, of Olympic Software, aren’t you?”

Both Harry and Jack sighed. “Yup. That’s me. Jack Holland. Come on in, Ian, and take a load off.”

Ian followed the two men into the house. It was a comfortable old house, obviously occupied by men with no interest in decorating fads. They walked through a well-appointed kitchen, past a table covered with computer industry magazines and comic books and into a living room, with several couches and recliners and a big screen tv. Harry flopped into the largest chair with the air of man who considered the piece of furniture “his” chair. Jack perched on the edge of a coffee table, staring at Ian as Ian gingerly sat on the edge of one couch.

“So, Ian,” began Jack, “Harry says you’re new to the life. How new?”

Ian swallowed, wondering if he could ask for some refreshments. “If you mean, how long have I known about this reincarnation thing, about a day. And I’m still not sure I actually believe in it. . .”

Jack grinned and made a clicking sound with the side of his mouth. “You will, my friend. It’s only been four years for me so I remember how it feels. Herc, here, seems to have known all his life. Say, I’m being a terrible host” The skinny man sprang to his feet. “Beer? Coke? And I mean the soda pop kind. I could brew some fresh coffee. There’s nothing left but the dreck Xena put on before she left this morning.”

“Beers, I think,” answered Harry for both of them. Jack bounced off into the kitchen.

“She’s here?” Ian couldn’t say the name. Just hearing it again caused the same reaction he had had in the restaurant.

“Not right now but she does live here. Um, she and I are sort of, together, in this life.”

“Oh.”

“But don’t worry about offending me. I’m curious. You obviously have a strong reaction to her name. What do you remember about Xena.”

Ian leaned back, taking his glasses off so he could rub his eyes. He didn’t really remember anything, not even a face to go with the name. He just knew that his stomach tensed and his cock stiffened in reaction to something associated with her. He wondered how to diplomatically tell this guy that he couldn’t remember Xena exactly but he wanted to both kill her and have with sex her, maybe at the same time.

“When I hear the name,” Ian spoke slowly, his eyes closed. “I feel. . .angry. I want to. . .hit something and I’m, I’m not a violent person.” He took a deep breath. “But I also associate. . .attraction, if you know what I mean, with the name.”

It was Jack’s voice that answered. “Oh, yeah. Kiss her or kill her, that’s our Xena.”

Ian opened his eyes to find a beer being held out to him. He took it gratefully.

Harry lifted his beer in a silent toast, then downed half of it in one swallow. Both Ian and Jack sipped theirs more carefully.

“Xena is quite something, in this life or any another,” chatted Jack with false cheerfulness, obviously trying to fill the tense silence in the room. “I tell you, the first time I saw her again, I nearly fainted. She is overpowering, not like Gabrielle.” Jack sighed heavily, his face going soft, “Now Gabrielle. . .”

“Joxer.”

Just one word but Jack fell silent.

“Ian, are you hungry or would you just like to go up to your room and rest a while before dinner? I know this is incredibly difficult for you but trust me, it will get better.”

Ian managed a weak smile. “That’s the only thing keeping me here. I do trust you. Heaven help me.”

All three men exchanged hearty smiles before Joxer leapt to his feet, nearly knocking over the coffee table and announced that he would show Iolaus around the place before dinner.

“Ian,” corrected Ian. “Please, at least for the time being, call me Ian.”

“Okey-dokey. Follow me, Ian.” 

Jack led Ian back down the hallway they had come through and up the flight of stairs they had passed, talking all the time.

“I bought the house ten years ago, as a corporate retreat, right after Olympic took off. I didn’t know who I really was then but I had these dreams, I tell you, they were doozies, and I used those dreams to design some of my best games. Ever play ‘Mother of all Monsters?’ I suppose not, being an accountant and besides, you actually experienced it! Why play some game version? Anyway, I ran into Gabrielle at a conference four years ago and the minute I saw her, BANG, it all came back. Well, not instantly but fast enough that I knew she and I were soul mates, destined throughout eternity to be together.”

Ian thought about asking who Gabrielle was but he hated to interrupt Jack. The man’s babbling was calming, like the sound of rushing water.

“She was hooked up with Xena already, of course. And Xena kind of knew Herc, although they weren’t together yet the way they are now. So I invited everybody to live here. Gabrielle doesn’t live here full time since she teaches archaeology at the university and goes on digs but she spends a lot of time here. She has the third floor where she uses the library for her unofficial work. That’s my room and that one is Herc and Xena’s. They have their own bathroom and that’s the bathroom the rest of us have to share but there is one downstairs and one on the third floor and one in the basement next to the gym if this one is in use and this is your room.”

Ian felt as if he were stepping into a European bed and breakfast. There was double bed with an antique iron frame, a dresser with a tall mirror, a large old-fashioned wardrobe and a battered rolltop desk and chair. The wallpaper was faded and the hardwood floor was covered with several worn Oriental rugs. 

“You should fit most of the clothes but if you need anything, let me know. I have accounts at a couple of places in town. . .”

“Thanks but I can pay my own way.”

“Right.” Jack winked. “Herc and Xena aren’t much for earning power and he can’t hold onto to a dinar to save his soul.”

“I know.” Ian paused because, to his surprise, he did know. He realized the car must belong to Jack, too. That had been bothering him, Harry and that expensive car. Now he felt better knowing that Hercules wasn’t any more interested in money now than . . .

“I’ll call you for dinner. We usually just thaw something, although we could go out to Gallatin Gateway or some place fancy to celebrate.”

“No, please. I don’t think I’m up to public dinners with you guys just yet.”

A look of hurt feelings flitted across Jack’s thin face but was quickly replaced by a knowing grin and wink.

“Take it easy. We’ll be downstairs if you need anything.”

If I need anything! thought Ian in a panic. How about a good psychiatrist? I’m in a room with a guy who thinks he is a friend of Hercules and thinks I am too! 

Ian circled the room slowly, investigating. The wardrobe held shirts and slacks, all new and all in the right size, although not the sort of thing he would have purchased for himself. The dresser drawers had socks, jeans, a couple of sweaters and underwear, cotton jockeys, thank the gods! in a selection of dark colors instead of his usual white but nothing oddball. When he opened the desk, he found an orange iBook with a note taped to it reading “In case you need to get in touch with your office. You’ve got a 56 kbs modem--sorry, out here in the boonies even I can’t get a T1 but I’m hoping for full fiber optic with a frame relay drop next summer--and I’ve set up an email account for you through my company. Just watch out for those porno sites. ;-} Joxer.”

He’d have to get in touch with the office soon. Usually he was there by seven thirty on Monday mornings. Usually. He wasn’t going to be doing anything the usual way for some time to come.

Returning to the dresser, he found himself staring at his reflection in the mirror. Damn it, said the voice in his head, don’t look so grim! He tried a weak smile but it didn’t help. Maybe. . .Ian yanked off his shirt and tossed it on the bed, then tried a broad grin while flexing his muscles. With the pretzel medallion, somehow it almost worked.

Gotta let your hair grow, said the voice as Iolaus grinned at him in the mirror. You may be in good shape for a pencil pusher but you need some work to handle a sword.

A memory flitted through Ian’s head, of a small boy, also stripped to the waist, with a wooden practice sword in one hand, trying to keep his balance while standing on a log. Ian leaned forward, removing his glasses, so he could look at himself closely. Would reincarnation mean your pupils came out exactly the same color as they were, what, three thousand years ago?

“Well, well, well.”

Ian spun, his hand reaching for that damned sword again.

“Xena!”

She was tall, taller than he remembered, with dark hair cut into bangs that set off her pale blue eyes. She was gorgeous, long-legged and full-breasted, with those cheekbones and that voice. Her smile was almost mocking as she said, “You seem to be happy to see me.”

Flushed with embarrassment, Ian turned his back on her, trying to mutter some sort of excuse.

“Hey, it’s okay.” 

Through clenched teeth, Ian said, as he tried desperately to will away his sudden erection, “It is not okay.”

“I’m sorry.” Her voice sounded genuinely contrite. “Hercules explained you only found out when he told you but you look so much like Iolaus, I forgot.”

Ian let out long pent up breath as he reached for his shirt. Once he had it on and buttoned, the tails hanging out, he turned around and managed a lopsided smile for the woman.

“I gather everyone else here has known for years.”

“I knew something was different for me all my life. For a little kid, I had some, shall we say, odd insights.” She gave him a friendly smile and looked much less threatening. “I met Gabrielle when I was twelve and we just. . .knew. . .right then. It took a few more years to remember the rest and then we met Hercules. . .but to find out now, at your age. . .must be a shock.”

Dryly, Ian said, “Thanks.”

Now she actually laughed and he felt his fear slip away. “Sorry. I didn’t mean it to come out quite like that but didn’t you have some inkling before Hercules showed up? Some dreams or something?” 

Ian shook his head. “You and everyone else may find this hard to believe but I was an accountant, heart and soul.”

“Yeah, but you’re pretty buff for an accountant.”

Ducking his head, Ian blushed. “Thanks. I guess I did keep in shape and I did take those classes in college but,” He looked up at her. Gods, she was a stunner. “Never in a million years would I have dreamed I ever knew anybody like you.”

To his astonishment, she leaned forward and down, pressing her lips against his, before whispering in his ear, “You knew me in the Biblical sense, you know.”

Did he ever. The instant her lips touched his, he got his first clear memory of Xena. She was naked, straddling his hips, her head back, his hands gripping her thighs tightly as they both surged towards orgasm.

She fluttered her fingers at Ian as he made a strangled sound in his throat. “See you at dinner.” Then she turned, giving him a good look at her great backside, and left, pulling the door shut behind her.

His knees failing him, Ian collapsed to the floor in a heap, curled around his aching cock. The scene kept replaying in his head, over and over, the sound she made as she came, her hands clutching her own breasts. His fists pounded the floor as he muttered “Stop this stop this stop this. . .”

In the back of his head, Iolaus was disgusted. Who was this idiot? Why had he been reborn in this wimp’s body and why had it taken so long for him to return? If he had gotten a hold of this twit twenty years ago, when he first tried, there might be some hope for him but no, Ian switched majors, dropped that hot girlfriend of his and turned into an accountant.

“There is nothing wrong with being an accountant,” Ian said the floor. “I am a very good accountant. In this day and age, being an accountant makes more sense than being a wandering hero.” 

Point taken, sighed Iolaus. Get up.


	3. Getting to know you again

Joxer stood at the bottom of the stairs and hollered. “Come and get it.”

Ian came down the stairs, looking as if he hadn’t slept in a week. He was wearing one of the new pair of jeans and a fisherman’s sweater, instead of a button down shirt. He even had on a new pair of soft leather boots. 

“That’s better,” said Joxer cheerfully, tossing his arm around Ian’s shoulders. “So, have you met Xena?”

“Urk.”

“I’ll take that as a yes. Gabrielle had to get her grades in before tomorrow morning so she’ll be late but the rest of us are waiting.”

The table had been cleared off and set with cheap dishes. There were six pizzas, frozen and reheated, spread out along with a bag of salad, a couple of bottles of different salad dressings and a jug of orange juice. Hercules sat at the head of the table with Xena to his right. What caught Ian’s attention was the person sitting next to Xena, in a high chair, an adorable blue-eyed little girl with round cheeks and a mass of dark hair. Ian wasn’t good at guessing children’s ages but she looked to him to be about one. She was eating Cheerios and grinning happily at Xena.

Joxer held out the chair at the other end of the table. “Ian.” Ian sat down, still stunned by the presence of the child.

“This is Eileen,” said Xena in a happy voice. “Aren’t you sweetie?”

The baby turned and smiled at Ian and said “Bah.”

Ian raised one hand and waved and the baby waved back.

“We’re glad you got here in time for her first birthday.” Harry/Hercules was sliding half a pizza onto his plate, then dumped salad on top of that. 

“I didn’t know you two had children.”

“Just the one,” replied Hercules, sounding as if he planned on many more. Xena was making faces at the little girl, who giggled in return.

“So, Ian,” Joxer passed him a pizza, “Ever been to Montana before?”

They managed what seemed like a perfectly normal dinner, a happy couple with their baby having a couple of old friends over for dinner. Xena talked about the horse she was training for a neighbor. Joxer complained about a beta version of some new software he was designing. On the back of a greasy cardboard circle, Hercules sketched the new pool house he was going to build for Joxer and Ian ate without tasting, baffled by the little fragments of memory that kept surging forward. Some guy with bad teeth and a roadside stand. Trying to steal food while locked in a prison cell. Sitting at a long table, a tankard in one hand and a laughing woman in the other.

After dinner, Ian found himself talking to Joxer about his corporate finances while Iolaus fumed in the back of his head. Give me time, he told his alter ego. You’ve been around for thousands of years. I’ve only had forty three and I’d like to enjoy what I have left before you and this bunch take me over completely. Iolaus protested that he had no intention of taking over Ian, just sort of sharing him, but Ian pushed him aside to discuss whether Joxer was taking full advantage of the overseas market tax credits.

At some point, Eileen started fussing and Xena took her upstairs to bed. Joxer suggested the hot tub and Hercules leapt out of his chair, announcing he was still stiff from all that time in the car.

The hot tub was a off the back deck, steaming under the light of a full moon. Ian stopped in the bathroom before heading outside, planning to ask if he had a bathing suit among his new possessions when he glanced out the window and saw Xena dropping her robe to slip, naked, into the hot tub beside Joxer and Hercules.

That was the limit. Ignoring mental howls of protest, Ian staggered out the front door, collapsing onto the front steps. He remembered, with acute clarity, sitting in a tub of some kind with Xena standing in front of it, wearing a blue lace robe. Then she let the robe drop and stepped into the tub.

“Hello.”

Preoccupied, Ian hadn’t noticed the approach of the car but when he looked up and saw the petite woman with the short strawberry blonde hair, he leapt to his feet, threw his arms around her and cried, “Gabrielle, I am so glad to see you.”

“Iolaus!”

“Ian!” He pushed away from her returning embrace. “My damn name is Ian Andrew Farney and I am a CPA!” His own voice sounded so hysterical to his ears that Ian stopped, short, panting.

If Gabrielle was upset by his outburst, she gave no sign of it. She just took his arm and sat him down on the front steps again, then sat down beside. He bent forward, head in his hands, leaning against her for comfort. In a softly agonized voice, he said, “I am losing my mind.”

“No, you’re not.” She sounded so matter of fact. “You’re just undergoing a difficult adjustment.”

“Adjustment? I’m having my mind taken over by somebody else!” His voice cracked as it lurched up in register. “This has happened before. I’ve been. . .possessed and it was. . .”

“Sh-h-h-h.” Gabrielle pulled his body gently against her, rocking him as if he were a frightened child. “That was different. You’re not being possessed. You’re just remembering.”

“Forty-eight hours ago I was Ian Andrew Farney, a CPA and now I’m becoming this Iolaus person who is nothing like me. . .”

“You’re not ‘becoming’ Iolaus.” In small, strong hands, she took hold of the sides of his head and tilted his face to look at hers. “You’ve always been. . .maybe not Iolaus exactly. . .but the same person. Memories aside, you’ve always had the same soul. The soul of the bravest, kindest, most loyal, most loving man I ever knew, in this life or any other.” She brushed his short bangs back off his damp forehead. “You’re you. You just have to get used to some. . .unusual memories.”

Ian shuddered. “That’s putting it mildly. I remember being beaten to death, being stabbed to death, being strangled by Hercules for some reason, being chased by a monster of some sort. . .”

“Yeah.” Gabrielle folded her hands in her lap. “Life was exciting in those days. I was crucified, did you know that?”

“Really?”

“You weren’t the only one who died and came back. I was nailed to a cross in Britannia and had my legs broken, then left to freeze.”

“Skip the cross but I’ve been there.”

“When?”

“Last life, I guess.”

“Oh.” She nudged him, smiling shyly at him. “There will be some good memories, too.”

“I’ve had a few of those.” He looked away, embarrassed. He wasn’t sure but he thought he might have had sex with this woman, too. “Makes me realize why Florence was never that interested.”

“Who?”

“My girlfriend in this life.”

“Do you miss her?”

Ian sighed. “No. That’s depressing, but true. I don’t miss her at all. I’ve barely thought about her, except to want to apologize for being so lousy in bed.”

Gabrielle clicked her tongue. “Ian.”

“Sorry. I just. . .” He fell silent, not sure what to say. For lack of anything else, he said, “What’s your real name?”

“Believe it or not, Gabrielle. Well, Gabriella, with an ‘a’ but close enough. Gabrielle O’Brien, B.S., M.A., Ph.D.” She held out her hand and Ian took it. She shook it firmly. He could feel callouses on her skin and wondered if they came from a sword. No, reminded Iolaus, she never much used a sword.

“You’re Gabrielle, I’m Ian. There’s Harry and Jack and what is, ah, Xena’s real name?”

Chuckling, Gabrielle, leaned over and whispered conspiratorially in his ear. “I know her real name but you are never, ever to call her by it. She HATES it.”

She sat back, smiling primly. Ian had to smile in return.

“It’s Louise.”

“Louise.”

“Shhhh, she’ll hear. You can call her Xena or Blackie but never, ever Louise.”

“Blackie?” Iolaus was as curious as Ian.

“Her last name is Blackman. She got the nickname as a kid. Black hair. “ Gabrielle chuckled again. “Giving kids black eyes.”

“I think I’ll stick with Xena.”

“Wise choice.”

Unexpectedly, Ian yawned, the last couple of days hitting him hard. He hadn’t slept decently since early Friday morning and it was now late Sunday night. Somehow, Gabrielle had put him more at ease than even Hercules.

“Ah, everything okay?”

Speak of the devil, thought Ian and Iolaus. Hercules was standing in the door, wearing an incongruous plaid bathrobe, rubbing his hair with a towel.

Ian stood up and stretched. “Okay. I think I’ll go to bed.”

Hercules stepped back so Ian could walk past him into the house. As he did, Ian brushed up against Hercules body just enough to feel the rock hard muscles and had the oddest sensation. I died in his arms, he thought. More than once. Pushing that morbid thought aside, he dragged himself wearily up the stairs.

***

Gabrielle sat down at her work table but her mind wasn’t focused. She had some new research but meeting Iolaus or Ian had surprised her. They had been looking for him for years. When she and Xena met Hercules in college, Hercules was already searching for his lost friend. There had been dozens of possibilities over the years but never any success. She knew Hercules had been broken-hearted. Somehow, he had said to her one night just last winter, someday, we always found each other, no matter where or when or how we were born. So how come I can’t find him now?

The only thing that had kept Hercules from sinking into a terrible depression at his failure had been the birth of Eileen. That little girl had brought such happiness into the household but still, even Xena knew, that no one could ever completely take Iolaus’ place.

Then, six months ago, Joxer had come up with a lead. He saw a picture in some business magazine of a hot new accounting firm in Oregon. It was a small, black and white picture of four guys in dark suits but all of them had looked at it, not daring to hope. In the middle, shorter than the others, of course, was a blonde-haired man in glasses. According to the identification, he was Ian Farney.

Hercules had been sure, at that instant, that it was Iolaus. Xena had made a bet with him it wasn’t. She couldn’t believe Iolaus could ever be described as ‘having the best grasp of complex real estate depreciation of any man in the Pacific Northwest.’ 

Joxer had hit the Internet. Hercules had made surreptitious trips to spy on an accountant. They had argued. Xena hadn’t wanted Hercules to go last week because she was so sure he would be disappointed again. Joxer had taken the opposite position, swearing by all the gods he had ever heard of that the accountant in Oregon was Iolaus. Gabrielle had been unsure. 

But when she drove up to the house and saw that poor man sitting on the steps, she knew, the same way she had with Xena, that he was one of them. When his arms went around her and she had felt the panic in his body, she had wanted to weep. We found you, she wanted to cry, I just hope it isn’t too late.

She tried to organize her thoughts and her work but her mind get drifting back to how she felt, comforting that man on the steps. He was Iolaus but he preferred to be called Ian. Firmly, she reminded herself to call him that. Unlike Joxer, he wasn’t quite so enthusiastic to embrace what seemed to be insanity. Joxer had been so thrilled to find himself the reincarnation of that great warrior. Gabrielle shook her head, smiling affectionately.

The grandfather clock in the library counted the hours. Gabrielle looked up, startled to see it was so late. She should go to bed. Maybe go downstairs and check if they had left her any cold pizza, then go to bed. Switching off the lights, she climbed slowly down the stairs, her mind still circling around how to help Ian make the transition to Iolaus when she heard a man’s voice cry out.

The door at the bottom of the third floor stairs was the spare bedroom, the bedroom that had been saved for Iolaus. The bedroom Ian was now occupying. Leaning against the door, Gabrielle cursed the solid old wood. She thought she could hear sobbing.

“Ian?” She knocked softly, opening the door to peer inside, “Are you okay?”

He was sitting up in bed, his hands pressed against his chest. He didn’t seem to notice Gabrielle as she entered the room, switching on the bedside lamp. His eyes were closed, his forehead glazed with sweat. Gently, Gabrielle touched his shoulder.

“The knife again,” whispered Ian hoarsely.

“What knife?”

“Didn’t you know?” He opened his eyes and looked up at her. She hadn’t seen Iolaus in a long time. “I was stabbed to death, in Sumeria. Hercules said something about Dahak that I didn’t really understand but I remember now.”

There was a carafe of water next to the bed. Gabrielle poured Ian a glass and handed it to him. He drank it, holding the glass with both hands because of his shaking.

“I know about Dahak.” Her voice was flat. “I heard about how you defeated him.”

“Defeated him? I’m the one who gave into him!”

“Sh-h-h-h. That was thousands of years ago. You never gave in completely, you were tricked. Remember?” Gabrielle remembered, remembered the first time she saw Hercules after that. She didn’t know that Iolaus had died but the instant she saw Hercules’ face, she knew in her heart that his friend was dead. She was glad to hear that Dahak had been finally defeated but at such a cost, it still brought tears to eyes to think about it.

Ian was a little calmer. Thousands of years ago. He had to keep reminding himself of that. All those things happened thousands and thousands of years ago. If they happened at all. He set the glass back on the table, only then realizing that he wasn’t wearing his pale blue Egyptian cotton pajamas that Florence had given him for Christmas last year. He wasn’t wearing anything! And a very attractive young woman was sitting on the foot of the bed, looking at him. Hastily, he bent his knees, trying to remember the last time he had slept naked and failing. Somewhere, Iolaus was gritting non-existent teeth and wishing he could grab Ian by the throat and shake some sense into him.

Gabrielle leaned against the footboard, unaware of how embarrassed Ian was and how carefully he was arranging the sheet over his groin. “When Hercules told me how you had been killed, and what happened afterwards, I was so angry.” She looked away from Ian, into the distance. “I was the one who opened the door for him, you know.”

“You? How?”

“He. . .made me kill someone.” This was one memory she hadn’t dredged up in a long time. Her fingers twisted the end of the bedspread. “I hadn’t ever killed anyone before. For. . .Dahak . . .that was taking a kind of innocence from me. Then he. . .”

“Stop.” Ian’s hands laid over hers. “I remember now.”

Their eyes met. They had both experienced the most horrific thing imaginable; manifest evil had invaded their bodies and forever altered their lives. Even Xena and Hercules couldn’t fully understand what it had been like for them. This was one thing only they shared.

They both leaned forward, their eyes closing, until their lips met, softly at first, barely brushing, then more intensely as they reached for each other.

Women, dozens and dozens of women, flashed in fragments through Ian’s mind. Fair and dark, tall and short, women wearing golden crowns and flowing robes, women wearing nothing at all. Didn’t you have STDs? asked Ian. Shut up, replied Iolaus and kiss her.

Gabrielle pressed her advantage, her hand resting on Ian’s naked chest, her fingers wrapping in the leather cord around his neck. He made no effort to resist, letting her push him back against the bed. His fingers found the buttons on her shirt and deftly unfastened them.

“Aphrodite bless the inventor of the front hook bra,” murmured someone as his hands cupped her small breasts, with the hardening nipples pressing against his palms.

There was one brief moment of doubt as Ian considered what he was doing but then Gabrielle’s hand slid between his legs and firmly squeezed and he moaned. The covers on his bed were pushed aside, the remaining clothes Gabrielle wore were discarded, and they lay together, backs arching, pressing sensitive skin to sensitive skin.

Grabbing Gabrielle by the shoulders, Iolaus quickly rolled her onto her back. It had been such a long time, there were things he desperately wanted to do and he knew Gabrielle won’t mind.

She kept her fingers lightly running through his hair, wishing it were long, as he slowly kissed and licked his way down her body, pausing at her breasts, making her gasp as he ran his tongue expertly around the nipples. He nibbled over her heaving ribs, spent a few delightful minutes on her flat belly, then slid her hands under her firm buttocks, hooked her legs around his shoulders, and buried herself in her damp, musky core.

This, thought Ian, is an out-of-body experience. He could feel and taste and hear and smell everything, every shudder of the muscles in Gabrielle’s thighs, the warm juices slicking his face, the gasping moans of pleasure, yet, at the same time, he was a distant observer. Ian wouldn’t have known to slip a finger gently inside the woman laying before him, pressing upward until he found the spot that made her cry out. Ian wouldn’t have known exactly when to move on, when she was trembling on the brink but not really ready to slide over the edge. And never in his life would it have occurred to him to pull her onto his lap, onto his hard, waiting cock.

He looked down at himself sliding slowly in and out of her body as she held on to him, nuzzling his neck, whimpering with desire.

They moved together, slowly at first, shifting slightly with each thrust until the balance was perfect. His hands wrapped low around her waist, holding her at just the right angle. She leaned back, taking him as deeply into her as she could.

There are other reasons for keeping in shape, Iolaus told the watching Ian. You can’t fuck like this unless you keep those back and leg muscles in shape. Thank you for that weight machine of yours.

Kama Sutra, thought Ian. One of those Tantric positions. Not one of the really strange ones, where someone has to stand on one leg or bend over completely backwards but still, nothing he had ever tried before. In his memories, he knew Iolaus had.

Gabrielle was moaning, rolling and rotating her hips. She bit her lip in concentration. He leaned back a little, putting more strain on his lower back but also allowing him to slip one hand into the center of her lower back to steady her while the other slid between their bodies, finding just the spot to press.

Watch and learn, said Iolaus, breathless even in their silent conversation. I had to watch you screw that frigid girlfriend of yours in that same damn missionary position year after year and now it’s my turn.

“Please.” Gabrielle’s voice was a cry for ecstasy in his ear. She put her hand on top of his, showing him just exactly what to do.

Hang on, my number crunching friend. 

Her orgasm made her entire body shudder. He was hard-pressed to keep her where he wanted her, where he needed her. Then she knew what to do in return, wrapping her arms tightly around him, squeezing her legs to pull him closer, her heels pressed against his lower back. His neck arched and Ian became Iolaus for one brief, glorious instant.

Then Ian was lying panting next to a woman he barely knew, yet knew so very intimately, while she twisted the medallion around his neck.

“Nice to have you back,” she sighed in his ear. 

He wanted to say “Nice to be back,” but he wasn’t. Not yet. Not entirely. And neither of them knew how to bridge the gulf.


	4. And I'm back

Hercules hadn’t seen Ian that morning as he loaded up the truck and headed over to the construction site. He was building a fence for a neighbor and had promised to finish it this week. Just because he had found Iolaus was no reason to break that promise. Xena was still working on that horse, a wild mustang bought at auction, but Gabrielle and Joxer would be around to watch Eileen.

And Ian, although Hercules wasn’t sure he was as experienced as Iolaus with small children.

He worked hard all day, making an extra effort because his mind kept wandering back to the newest member of their little commune. He was so happy to have Iolaus back yet every time he looked at Ian, he saw that haunted look. Hercules had the distinct feeling Ian wasn’t as happy to find Iolaus as the rest of them. When he walked back into the house late that afternoon, he was seriously beginning to question his decision to bring Ian back. That thought fled his mind as the aromas hit his nose.

“What is that?” Hercules asked, dropping his tool belt on the table by the back door. There were pots, actual steaming pots, on the top of that fancy commercial range nobody ever used for anything besides heating frozen pizzas or boiling water. He could see fresh bread under a covering dishtowel, smell garlic and onions. 

Xena, Eileen on her hip, came through the kitchen door.

“He cooks,” she cried as she kissed Hercules fondly on the cheek.

“Who cooks?”

From the door that lead to the unused formal dining room came a voice. “I cook. Me. Ian.”

“It’s true!” Xena looked as happy as the day her pregnancy test came out positive. “Gabrielle took him (Hercules noticed the indefinite pronoun) and he came back with a dozen bags of groceries. Would you believe he made the lasagna noodles himself?”

“Ah, no, but then Ian does seem to be a man of many talents.”

“We’re eating in the dining room,” was all Ian said, scooting past Hercules and taking great care, which Hercules noticed, to avoid any physical contact with the bigger man. “I’ve got your tax records finally sorted on the kitchen table and I don’t want to have to sort them again. You are going to owe a fortune in quarterly estimated tax since I gave her (another unspecific pronoun) the deduction for the baby. You really need to keep better expense records. Still, Jack or I could loan you the money to get yourself out of hot water. For tax purposes, we’d better write that up formally.”

“Uh, right.” 

Hercules headed out of the kitchen to go upstairs and wash. Xena followed him, chirping, “You will not believe the bathrooms! I have no idea how he got that grunge off the sink. . .”

Hercules stopped dead and turned to stare at her. “He cleans?”

“Oh, yeah! And irons. He says he thinks better when he is doing something mindless and physical. Difference between him and Iolaus. Iolaus had a whole different concept of mindless and physical.” She nudged him with the elbow not holding their daughter. “Although Gabrielle said they were up to bit of that last night and she was pretty sure it was Iolaus. I guess he used some of his signature moves.” 

“That’s more than I need to know, thank you.”

“Ten minutes,” called Ian from downstairs. “And I hate cold food.”

Iolaus didn’t care what temperature food was, as long as it was available. Somehow, this didn’t make Hercules nearly as happy as it made Xena, although he had to admit he had never seen the bathroom look so good. You could perform brain surgery in that tub now and this morning, he hadn’t really wanted to step into it at all.

At dinner, Ian was positively fussy. He was smiling, though. In those years with Florence, he hadn’t made his fattening five cheese lasagna, because she ate no dairy products, nor his good crispy French bread, because it had to be made with white flour and Florence didn’t allow the stuff in her house. He had set the table in the dining room with a set of decent dishes he had found under a layer of dust in the pantry. There was even a tablecloth, also from the pantry and probably, Ian suspected, left by the previous owner of the house. At least Joxer had a bottle or two of good wine.

“Lasagna.” Ian, a floursack towel around his waist as an apron, was using a wooden spoon to point at each of the dishes. “Fresh, not canned, green beans with peppers, onions, and garlic. Salad that I tore the lettuce leaves myself. And there are poached pears in wine sauce for dessert.”

They ate like a legion of half-starved soldiers. The only comment from Iolaus all day had been at the grocery store, when he suggested Ian buy double of everything he planned because he was feeding big eaters. As Ian watched his table mates wolf down his cooking, he was glad he had followed the advice. All three loaves of bread vanished, as did most of the two pans of lasagna and all the beans. A few fragments of carrots shavings were all that were left in the salad bowl.

The meal was also relatively quiet, except for the sound of chewing and the occasional moan from Xena, who apparently really liked Ian’s cooking. He found the sound disconcerting, since it reminded him of that time she and Iolaus had been. . .don’t go there, Ian commanded himself.

Finally, Joxer leaned back in his chair, burped and said, “I wish we had found you ten years ago. I’d have hired you as my personal chef.”

“If we’d known him ten years ago--which was before we met you, Joxer, dear,” added Gabrielle, “we’d all be a hundred pounds overweight.”

Eileen, who was munching happily on bits of noodle, pointed at Ian and said, “Gah.”

Hercules felt uncomfortable. The meal had been fabulous, the best he had eaten since he couldn’t remember when, but the idea that Ian, who looked so much like Iolaus, was a cook, made him feel even more guilty. This wasn’t like the alternate universe Iolaus. This was a man from right here and now. Was he forcing this man to become something he didn’t want to be?

Ian looked troubled, too. He seemed to be having some sort of internal argument, tilting his head to one side and twitching.

Of course she’ll have sex with us, Iolaus protested at Ian’s reluctance. Gabrielle has had the hots for us since the day we first met. Remember. A Gabrielle with long hair passed by Ian’s mind’s eye. Younger. More innocent. Defenseless.

I don’t want to have sex with her again. Ian tried to sound as if he believed it. Iolaus didn’t. You left me alone all day, Ian interrupted the other voice. Why start up now?

Because I am tired of playing Miss Perfect Housewife, that’s why! I’m not like that.

“But I am!”

Ian looked up to see everyone, even the baby, staring at him and he realized he had said those last three words out loud and with considerable feeling.

“You are what?” asked Hercules.

“Me.” The sight of the dirty dishes stacked on the table suddenly depressed him. 

“Don’t you get tired of having these conversations in your head? In feeling like Joanne Woodward in that multiple personality movie? I am getting used to the idea of this other . . .person. . .aware of everything I think but I am getting tired of him commenting on it. Having two voices in my head is annoying.”

A glance was passed around the table. Joxer, who was sitting next to Ian, said, “Um, I don’t have two voices in my head.”

Ian looked from unfamiliar/familiar face to unfamiliar/familiar face and saw it in each of them. “Great. I can’t even reincarnate right.”

“Now, don’t panic,” said Gabrielle in her most professorial tone. “We have to take the age difference into account.”

Ian, his hands over his face, made a pained sound. Xena chuckled, although no one else at the table knew why.

“We all came into our memories young and may have forgotten how age specific those memories were.”

“Huh?” 

She reached her hand out and patted Ian’s. “It works like this. When you’re a child, you have a child’s memories. That way, ten-year-olds don’t remember things that are too adult for them to understand.”

“I was pretty precocious for a ten-year-old,” said Xena.

“That’s not helping! Listen, Ian, we’ve all had years to gradually integrate the memories and experiences of our previous lifetimes--one lifetime in particular--whereas you’ve had hours. Even Joxer, although he didn’t know who he really was until four years ago, remembered things from that life. So we all worked those aspects of ourselves into ourselves gradually. You’re trying to accept forty years worth of memories in forty hours. You have to be patient.” 

Ian sighed. “So why did you all remember stuff as kids and I was a blank slate until three days ago?”

At that question, all Gabrielle could do was shrug. “I don’t know. But you have to remember, Iolaus isn’t a separate person. He’s you.”

“No, he’s not.” Ian folded his napkin into a neat fan. “He is nothing like me. And I am nothing like him.” His voice was strained. “Iolaus didn’t cook. I do. Iolaus didn’t clean. I do. Iolaus didn’t understand tax law. I do. Iolaus was a warrior. I am an accountant. I take an aggressive stance for my client’s in most cases but that doesn’t make me a fighter. And I wish all of you, including Iolaus, would understand that!”

He stood up so abruptly, his chair tipped back and hit the floor. The sound startled Eileen and she started to cry. Gabrielle leapt up to follow him as he left the room but Hercules stopped her.

“Let him go.” He sounded tired. “I wish I could let go back to his old life.”

“No, you don’t,” said Xena, picking up the baby and comforting her. 

“Yes, I do. I only cared about finding my friend because I missed him. I didn’t even stop to think that maybe he had life without me that made him perfectly happy.”

“Believe me,” said Gabrielle. “He wasn’t all that happy before.”

Joxer, leaning back in his chair, was tapping his lips with his fingers, his eyes narrowed in concentration.

“We need a plan,” he muttered, “to help Ian become Iolaus. . .”

“Without losing Ian’s abilities.” Xena raised her eyebrows. “What? Am the only one who likes his cooking and appreciates a clean bathroom?”

***

Gabrielle wanted to skip lunch that afternoon with some of her colleagues but it had been set up months in advance and she did have some books at the university she wanted to bring home to Joxer’s ranch. She hadn’t seen Ian since he left the dining table the previous night but he had been in her thoughts continuously.

At bed time, she had knocked on his door and been told firmly to go away. Later, she had crept downstairs, hoping that by sneaking into his bed while he was asleep, he might awake as Iolaus. He certainly seemed to have been Iolaus when they made love the night before but she couldn’t open his door. Since the doors didn’t have locks, she guessed he had propped his desk chair under the knob, which seemed to be a pretty firm hint that he didn’t want company.

She had left late the next morning but there had been no sign of him then, except for a plate of fresh cranberry scones on the kitchen counter that he had managed to bake when no one was around. All afternoon, her friends had commented on how distracted she seemed. She made up some story about a friend being depressed and they all kindly offered advice. Gabrielle was so deep in thought, worrying about Ian, she nearly missed the turn off to the house and ended up coming up the drive at an odd angle, which gave her a very good view of Hercules walking across the paddock, holding Ian in his arms.

Gabrielle skidded to a stop, spraying gravel, leaping out of the car without bothering to to close the door behind herself.

“What happened?” she cried, running up behind Hercules. Only then did she notice Xena, who was biting her lower lip. Joxer, Eileen in his arms, was holding the back door open, asking the same questions as Gabrielle.

“We went riding,” answered Xena, snatching up her daughter as if to use her as a shield against attack from her friends.

“Which horse did you put him on?”

“That old mare of Joxer’s. She is so gentle, I thought there would be no problem. I convinced him the fresh air and all this glorious scenery would relax him. He’d ironed everything in the house he could get his hands on and I thought it would be good for him.”

“And?” Gabrielle’s expression was fierce.

“And that damn horse spooks at snakes.”

Gabrielle continued to glare at Xena, who managed a weak, ‘please forgive me’ smile in return. The two women followed Hercules and Joxer into the living room, where Hercules had laid a moaning Ian on the sofa.

“Nothing serious,” Hercules reported grimly, glaring at Xena, as he went for the first aid kit.

Gabrielle knelt next to Ian, who lay with one arm over his eyes. He had some scrapes and bruises but the worst damage seemed to be a swelling left ankle and a cut on his forehead. Joxer was carefully removing Ian’s boot, mumbling a continuous stream of apology as he pulled it off.

Hercules returned, ice pack in one hand, first aid kit in the other. “Ooo, that’s gotta hurt.”

“It’s broken,” whimpered Ian, his hands clenched into fists. “I need a doctor.”

“It’s sprained.” His big hands surprisingly gentle, he examined Ian’s ankle. “Definitely just sprained. And not even all that badly. Hand me those pillows.”

Joxer did as he was told, his face pale. Xena said something about giving the baby a bath and left. Gabrielle was examining the cut on Ian’s face.

“Um, Gabrielle,” said Joxer, pulling her hand back from the injury, “That happened earlier today.”

“What?” 

Ian dropped his arm and glared furiously at Joxer. “This bunch of . . .lunatics decided to play Inspector Clouseau.”

“Huh?”

“Well.” Joxer looked embarrassed. “I thought if I sort of, you know, sprang out at him with a sword. . .” 

“Oh, Joxer.” Gabrielle took wet cloth from Hercules and started cleaning a scrape on Ian’s elbow. “You thought it would trigger some sort of muscle memory and he’d suddenly be Iolaus.”

“Well, yeah. It seemed like a good idea.”

Hercules, who was wrapping and elastic bandage around Ian’s ankle, added, “And Xena had the same idea only on horseback. Iolaus was a better horseman than I was and she thought a nice ride would help.”

“Oh, Ian, I’m so sorry.”

“Thank you, Gabrielle.” His voice was cold. “Although I am well aware that you had the same idea with just a different approach to, what did you call it?, muscle memory.”

Now Gabrielle blushed. No one spoke as she and Hercules tended to Ian’s injuries, washing and bandaging what needed it. Joxer brought him some painkillers, then decided he needed to work on something and vanished.

Hercules finished the bandage. “Do you know the drill for sprains?”

“Rest, ice, compression, elevation. Yeah. I’ve pulled a muscle or two before. Thank you, Gabrielle.” She settled some extra cushions under his ankle. “Could I talk to Hercules alone for a minute?”

“Um, yeah. I’ll be in the library.”

Hercules sat heavily in his chair, looking grim. Ian turned his head to study him. “You know, I don’t think you looked that depressed when I died.”

Sighing, Hercules managed a wan smile. “How would you know if you were dead? Look, Ian, I am so sorry. . .”

“It’s not your fault. Joxer and Xena. . .and Gabrielle are sincerely trying to help.” He shifted his weight, trying to find a position that didn’t hurt so much. The horse had thrown him into a nice pile of rocks. “I went along with Xena, hoping that maybe talking to her instead of just. . .” He didn’t say--remembering what it was like to have sex with her--and instead said, “ignoring her would trigger something.”

“No luck, huh?”

“No. If anything, I feel more like Ian than ever.”

“And you should go back to being Ian before Joxer or Xena kills you by mistake.”

“I can’t.” Ian sat up a little, trying to catch Hercules’ eye. “Because even if I am just Ian, even if I can’t ride a horse or wield a sword, I feel. . .I feel as if I belong here in a way I have never felt before.” 

Hercules swallowed and twisted his hands. “But your life in Oregon. . .”

Ian lay back, staring at the ceiling, thinking it needed painting. “My life in Oregon was dull, shallow and incomplete. I knew it. I didn’t know why but I woke up every morning with this hollow in the pit of my stomach.” His voice shook a little. “I had acquaintances and business colleagues but no real friends. I had a lover I didn’t love and I would lie awake some nights wondering what was I doing wrong? I was good at my job. I was financially successful. And I was so depressed some times I couldn’t stand it. I took pills. I went to therapy. And I walked around half dazed always feeling as if something were missing.”

“Ian. . .”

“Let me finish.” He took a deep breath. “When those muggers attacked me and I looked up and saw you. . .even though I didn’t who you were. . .that empty feeling went away and it hasn’t come back. Even without that other voice screaming in the back of my head, I would know this is where I belong. While every logical accountant’s brain cell tells me to go back to Oregon and my Volvo and report the lot of you to the authorities, my heart says stay here.”

Hercules brushed his hands across his face, not surprised at the tears. He throat was so tight he couldn’t speak. He didn’t know it but in the back of Ian’s mind, Iolaus was jumping up and down in delight.

“So.” Hercules took a deep breath himself. “You know, I think Ian Farney strikes me as an awfully nice guy.” He pulled on the front of his shirt. “And I haven’t been this wrinkle free since I moved away from home. I think this will work out. Don’t you?”

Iolaus was shouting that he would teach Ian to ride and fight but Ian ignored him. Maybe these people were crazy but he felt right at home.

“Yeah, I think it will.”

***

Ian was reading a letter when Hercules came downstairs. His crutches were propped next to his chair but he hadn’t been using them much for the last few days.

“Coffee’s on,” said Ian, not looking up. “I made waffles for the early risers but since you slept in this morning, you’ll just have to warm them up in the toaster.”

“Thanks but I’m not hungry just yet. News from home?”

Hercules knew Ian had been in touch with his partners, working out an agreement that let him take a six month sabbatical, doing some work by internet and mail. He had already sold his car and had listed his house. He had arranged for a few personal possessions to be sent here but most of that life no longer mattered to him.

“It’s from Florence.”

“Ah. Is she upset?”

Shaking his head, Ian laughed and set the letter down. “Oh, no. Not in the least.” He laughed again. “I told my partners I needed time off because of health reasons. However, they had their own theories.”

“Huh?”

“That night in Eugene, when we ate at the diner, there was an accounting student there who was doing an internship in my office. I didn’t see her but she saw us.”

“Us? Oh, boy.”

“Yeah. She told everyone at Feldman, Finch, Phillips and Farney and they decided the reason I left town was because I was running off with my male lover.”

Hercules pointed at himself, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah. They thought I didn’t want to come out of the closet in a relatively small town like that because of the reputation. I guess they’re actually grateful, especially Sam Feldman. He’s pretty conservative and has conservative clientele who might not do business with an accounting firm with a gay partner.”

“Swell. Did you explain. . .”

“What?” Ian grinned. “No, I’m not running off with that guy because he’s my lover, I’m running off with him because he’s Hercules, son of Zeus, and I’m his reincarnated partner. Sam Feldman prefers gay to insane.”

“So, somebody at your office told your girlfriend. . .”

“On the money again. Susan Phillips is a friend of Florence’s. She introduced us.” Ian leaned forward, still smiling. “But it gets better. Florence isn’t upset. She’s glad I finally realized my true ‘orientation.’ Because it makes it easier for her to admit to me that she thinks she’s a lesbian.” 

Hercules was aware that his jaw had dropped open and he snapped it shut.

Ian folded the letter neatly and slid it back into its envelope. “It explains a lot, really, especially about the last year or so. Florence had gotten to be good friends with this woman who was openly gay. She kept denying anything but. . .what sex life we had got even worse.

“Anyhow, in the long run, this seems to be for the best. Florence sounds happy and in the five years I knew her, I never knew her to be really happy.” He sighed. “But since I wasn’t either, it was just as well.”

“You two must have been a fun couple.”

“Gods.” He ran his hands through his hair. He hadn’t had a haircut in the three weeks he’d been there and it was beginning to get in his eyes. He’d have to get it trimmed but I promise to let it grow out, he added to the indignant voice that kept saying how much women liked long hair. I just need my bangs cut. “We were. . .I can hardly believe I stood it as long as I did. You know, if you hadn’t come along when you did, I hate to think where I’d be.”

Hercules leaned over to see if Ian was still wearing an elastic bandage. “You might not have that. By the way, how’s the ankle doing?”

“Oh, fine. I brought the crutches down to remind to take them back to the pharmacy. Slight limp but I’ve had worse.”

Hercules could remember Iolaus bleeding and broken on more than one occasion. Only in absolute desperation would he allow himself a sling or walking staff. Hercules wasn’t sure if Ian was referring to his own life or his past memories. For that matter, neither was Ian.

“It’s such a nice day and I haven’t got the wood in yet to start the pool house. You want to go fishing?”

“Fishing?” Ian blinked, as if Hercules had just asked him to go sky-diving or bungee-jumping.

“You know.” He mimed a cast. 

“Don’t you need a license?”

“Not if you’re fishing in a private, stocked pond.”

“Stocked with what? I have a great recipe for trout almondine.”

“Perfect!” Hercules grinned broadly. “We’ve got both cutthroat and brown. Big ones, too.”

Ian considered it and shrugged. “Why not?”

“Great! I’ll get the gear!” 

The stocked pond wasn’t far from the house. After collecting rods and tackle, Hercules followed Ian down the narrow path to the pond. Joxer had spent some money on it, having willows planted and little islands added for ducks, all framed by artfully natural pines and firs planted to enhance the view of the nearby mountains.

Ian was aware, as he walked, that Hercules was watching him intently. He is a worry wart, Iolaus explained. I used to get hurt a lot, compared to him, anyway. And killed, added Ian, but what do you expect when an ordinary mortal decides to hang around with a demigod. And yes, I know, he hates the term.

“Ever done this before?”

“Not in this life.”

Hercules gave him a quick lesson. Iolaus might be interested in fly casting but for Ian, Hercules stuck to a plain rod and reel, with marshmallows for bait. After a few snarls, they settled down, side by side on a low bench.

“We did this a lot, didn’t we?”

“Yeah. Iolaus was the hunter but we both fished. I usually cooked.”

Campfires. Smoke and flame and the acrid smell of burning wood. Hunger, sharp from long days of little food and physical effort. Lying on the ground, watching the sparks soar up into the night sky, body weary and aching but utterly content. 

“Watch it. You’ve got a bite.”

Rabbit and fish and rabbit and fish and rabbit and fish and sometimes mutton stew or wild fowl or the strong, gamy taste of wild boar. Round loaves of bread made with flour ground between stones so that every mouthful had grit in it. Cheese, mild and sweet, made fresh from goat’s milk or aged until it almost bit back. 

“Pull to set the hook.” 

They fished in companionable silence for an hour, Hercules catching several large trout and Ian delighted with the two smaller ones he managed. Ian was surprised. Iolaus wasn’t exactly speaking to him but he seemed to be sharing bits of the quiet memories. Since he had first awakened with the knife in his chest, Ian had mostly remembered fierce battles, horrific monsters or passionate love-making. This was the first time he found himself recalling just sitting by a steam, fishing or talking. Or walking along a ridge line, the sea spread out below, a hot wind blowing his long hair off his neck.

“It must have been,” mused Ian, “a rather pleasant life, when something ghastly wasn’t looming on the horizon. No mortgage payments or overdrafts at the bank or plans for retirement.”

“Yeah. It was nice. It was. . .intense. . .sometimes but sometimes, it was just nice. Do you think these are enough fish for dinner?”

“Plenty. I suppose we should leave a few for next time.” As they collected their tackle and the stringer hung with half dozen fish, Ian said, in a distant, dreamy voice, “I remember an older man. Dark hair. Fishing with us.”

“Jason.”

“Jason.” Ian twitched. “The Jason? Jason and the Argonauts Jason?”

“That’s the one.”

“Funny. As a kid I always loved that movie. The fight scene between the skeletons was my favorite. Ray Harryhausen was a genius.”

On the word “genius,” Ian slipped on a patch of mud, tried to catch himself on his injured ankle, and went over backwards, the fish in his hand flying. Before Hercules could catch him, Ian hit the ground and the fish hit Hercules in the face.

“Are you okay?” asked Hercules, wiping slime and scales off his face. “Ian?”

Ian was lying flat on his back and laughing, almost hysterically. He waved his hands, trying to catch his breath, and pointed at Hercules as he gasped, “You. Jason. Falling over a log. Fish.”

After a moment, Hercules remembered the incident; Jason, Iolaus and Hercules, walking home from fishing along the ocean. Hercules had been talking to Jason about something and had turned to look back over his shoulder, not noticing the log in his path. He had gone over backwards, throwing his fish at Jason, who had fallen in turn. In the end, all of three of them and the fish had ended up in a heap. Hercules could remember Iolaus laughing so hard he couldn’t stand up afterwards and kept staggering into trees, overwhelmed by another gale of laughter, as they tried to walk home. 

“I remember. We all had to take baths and wash our clothes before my mother would let us in the house because we smelled so terrible. You got laughing fits about it for days afterwards.”

“I did, didn’t I?” Ian grinned up at Hercules, arched his back and, with one quick, fluid motion, somersaulted to his feet. When he landed, he spread his hands, cocked his head at his friend and laughed.

“Iolaus.”

Iolaus jumped up at Hercules, wrapping his arms around the familiar body, hugging him and pounding him on the back, still laughing. Anyone from Feldman, Finch, Phillips and Farney would have been quite sure they had been right about the relationship between the two men. 

After a long embrace, Hercules pushed his friend away and stared hard into those aquamarine eyes. “It is. . .you, isn’t it?”

His breath escaping in a startled rush, Iolaus sat down, unable to stand. “It is,” he said in wonderment. He closed his eyes, searching his mind. “It’s me but it’s Ian, too.” He opened his eyes and grinned. “Maybe you could call me Iolian. I don’t remember everything. . .” His brow furrowed briefly, then cleared as he smiled again. “But I feel like. . .me.” Iolaus fell backwards onto the cool grass, spreading his limbs, feeling himself inhabiting all of this body, from finger tip to finger tip, the crown of his head to the soles of his feet. Every breath, every inch of skin, was his again. Looking up at Hercules, he couldn’t help the ridiculous grin from spreading across his face again.

“Took you long enough.” Hercules extended his hand to help his friend to his feet, trying to sound gruff.

“You were going about it all wrong, you know.”

“Going about what?” 

“Trying to get me to remember, to be me again.” He snatched a broken branch from off the ground and made a quick thrust and parry. “Gabrielle and her muscle memory theory.” He shook his head. “Dead wrong. It wasn’t the body that needed to adapt. It was the personality. We needed to common ground and for Ian and Iolaus, it wasn’t fighting or fucking! It was laughing.” He threw his hands wide and laughed. “Ian has a wicked sense of humor. . .for an accountant.” Iolaus shook his head. “He hasn’t laughed much lately but remembering those stupid fish. . .” He chuckled. “We both found it funny and we both suddenly. . . I don’t know, we were together.”

He spun, tossing the stick aside. If his injured ankle still bothered him, Iolaus gave no sign of it. Such a minor injury wasn’t worth bothering about. He started towards the house, then turned and said, “Don’t forget the fish. Maybe you should cook tonight.”

Hercules sighed as he picked up the stringer, rods and tackle box. “Maybe I should have stuck with the accountant.”

“Ah, don’t panic, buddy. I still remember how to do a tax form.” He winked. “And I’ll cook. Might as well take advantage of what I know.”

Xena was standing on the deck as the two men approached. Eileen was sitting happily in her playpen, gnawing on an assortment of rubber toys. Wrinkling her nose, Xena said, “Fish for dinner?”

Iolaus reached up, caught her forearm and pulled her forward and off balance, so she had to fall into his arms. He bent her over one arm, dropping his head and giving her a deep kiss, his tongue dancing past her lips, then pushed her back to stand, blinking, her hands on her lips.

“Iolaus.”

Bowing deeply, Iolaus said, “At your service, your royal highness.”

“Can you still do my taxes?”

“Good grief! Everyone is desperate to get me back and once you do, all I hear about is ol’ Ian.” His face shifted expression, the smile replaced by a look of concentration. “Yes, I can still do your taxes. Give me those fish, Herc. I’ll start dinner.”

“I’ll help you clean them.”

In the kitchen, vaguely aware of Xena watching them through the French doors, Iolaus and Hercules expertly gutted and descaled the fish.

“Damn. This fillet knife works better than anything I used to use. Fighting daggers aren’t really all that well suited to cooking.”

“So, you don’t remember everything but. . .”

Iolaus picked up a fish, one in each hand, and faced them towards each other, using them as puppets. “I don’t have that ‘Ian’ and ‘Iolaus’ talking to each other feeling.” He put them back in the sink, leaning against the counter, his voice serious. “I. . .feel like me. I still have all of Ian’s memories. He isn’t. . .gone. I’m still Ian Andrew Farney.”

“CPA.”

Iolaus smiled. “Right. But I’m Iolaus, too. I guess that’s how it is for the rest of you.”

“Pretty much. Heads on or off?”

“Traditionally, on. But doesn’t Gabrielle hate food that looks back?”

“Um, I don’t know. I know I do.” Hercules picked up the cleaver and removed the heads in six, quick, easy strokes. “We can give these to the barn cats.”

Forgetting the fish for a moment, Iolaus turned to look out the kitchen window at the mountains. “I remember. . .so many things but they’re still jumbled together and. . .incomplete.”

“Like Gabrielle said, you’ve got forty years of memories to remember. It will probably take time to get it all straight but the important thing is. . .”

“The personality is back. Yeah, Ian was a bore.” 

“Ian is a nice guy.”

“Thank you.”

“Iolaus!”

Joxer sprang into the room, a bathroom plunger held out as if it were a sword. Without conscious effort, Iolaus knocked the ‘weapon’ away, spun behind Joxer and had his fillet knife against Joxer’s throat before Joxer could begin to react.

“Ha.” Joxer forced a weak chuckle. He reached up one finger and pushed Iolaus’ hand away from his throat. “Nice to have you back.”

Finally, Iolaus could say it. “Nice to be back.”


	5. So what now?

***

Gabrielle came up behind Iolaus as he stood on the front porch, looking up at the night sky.

“You don’t see stars like these in Eugene. Too many city lights and too many clouds.”

“The sky is beautiful, here.” Leaning against him, she slid her arm around his waist. He returned the gesture but she could tell, without question, that is was a friendly embrace.

Dinner had been joyous as they all welcomed Iolaus properly back into the fold. They told old stories, testing each other’s memories. Hercules sat at the head of the table, grinning so broadly that Iolaus suspected his cheeks hurt. But it was still a little overwhelming and after dinner, he had gone out onto the porch to be alone.

“Gabrielle.”

“Hmmm.”

“We need to talk.”

Sighing, Gabrielle pulled away and went to sit on the porch swing. “I know what that means.”

She couldn’t see his face clearly but she knew he was uncomfortable.

“You don’t have to say anything,” she said quietly. “I can figure most of it out. For starters, you’re Iolaus.”

He sounded almost miserable as her replied, “Yes. I am. But it’s not just that.” He sat next to her, his hands clasped between his thighs, his head bent. “There’s Joxer.”

Gabrielle made a raspberry sound with her lips. Iolaus glanced up at her, smiling. 

“There is Joxer,” he said again. “He does love you and if you and I were a couple, it would hurt him terribly and it wouldn’t be fair.”

Gabrielle took his hands in hers. “Because you’re not ready to ‘be a couple.’ Not so soon after getting yourself back.”

Iolaus sighed. “In his whole life, Ian has been with four women. Five, if I count you and that really wasn’t Ian. He hasn’t. . .lived . . .yet. I remember all these. . .great times. . .”

Gabrielle had to laugh. “That’s a discreet way of putting it.”

“Thank you. I try.” The voice was pure Ian. “I need to, how would you put it, fully integrate Iolaus into Ian before I could start even thinking about having a serious relationship.”

“I understand.” Leaning against him, she said, “I really do. And as much I would like to spend some serious bedroom time with Iolaus, you’re right. I might just fall madly in love with you and I know you don’t feel that way about me.”

“Hey, we might be soul mates. Who did I end up with? Hercules said I died surrounded by children and grandchildren so there must have been someone.”

Gabrielle shrugged. “I don’t know. Age specific memories. I don’t think Iolaus. . .you didn’t settle down until later in life.”

“Considering what life expectancy was in ancient Greece. . .”

“Now you sound like a life insurance salesman.”

They both laughed, leaning back comfortably into the slowly rocking swing.

“Hercules knows. His memories don’t seem to be ‘age specific.’” Iolaus sighed. “Probably that half god thing still coming through. Which is a whole ‘nother thing. . .What about the gods? They were. . .I remember them as. . .real. Immortal. Looking around the world, I can see where Ares would have plenty of worshipers, even if they didn’t know they were serving in his name.”

Gabrielle pinched him. “I thought Aphrodite was your patron goddess.”

“Hmmm. Wonder if she is still around in some form.” 

“People still fall in love. She must be.”

The swing creaked comfortingly as the old friends rocked and watched the stars wheel slowly overhead. 

*** 

Iolaus was making love to the dark-eyed woman, her long, strong legs wrapped tightly around his waist, their fingers interwoven, their eyes locked on each other. He could tell he had just started, was still on the slow, easy strokes, just beginning to settle into the rhythm that would lead to ecstasy. She was sighing his name in time with his movements. Even though she wasn’t saying it out loud, he knew she was saying “I love you” in other ways and he was returning the sentiment.

“Nebula.” He sighed her name as he bent to nuzzle her throat, just where the pulse beat under her jaw. “Nebula.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a flash of movement, a dagger thrown straight at her heart. They weren’t in bed anymore, they were in the room centered around a sacrificial altar, one side open to a scene from Tartarus, roiling white smoke and howling noise. He threw himself between the woman and the blade and woke up in the old iron bed in Joxer’s house is western Montana.

Grinding his teeth against the pain, he could see the handle, with its heavy ribbing and the hook shaped like a quarter moon on the end, sticking out of his chest. The quillions were deeply curved, pressing against his skin, keeping the waved blade from going all the way through to his spine.

He could see, too, Hercules bending to gather his dying friend into his arms. Shock and horror, anguish and agony, mixed on the handsome face, gouts of white smoke roaring like lions behind him.

“Hang in there, buddy.” The voice trembling.

In those last, brief seconds, before his damaged heart quit beating, he tried to put everything into his eyes. All the love he felt for Hercules. All the gratitude that someone like Hercules had considered someone like Iolaus worthy of friendship. Reassurance that this was the way he wanted to die, saving someone he loved, doing good in a world that had so much evil in it. My life was worth it, old friend, because I lived it at your side. Don’t grieve too much for me because I will always be with you in memory and spirit. And don’t blame yourself, because I chose to leave the quiet life of a farmer and blacksmith behind to roam the world as your partner.

He said the name, both lying on the cold stone steps in a room in Sumeria that had turned to dust millennium ago and in the comfortable bed in the twenty-first century.

“Hercules.”

As the pain passed and he could start to breathe again, he swung his feet out of bed. As long as he was awake. . .funny, he had been thinking that every night for three months. He took several deep breaths, pushing the memory of that death back until the next night.

Pulling on his jeans, he left his room in his familiar routine, using the bathroom, then wandering downstairs to get a snack. He’d nibble and do some paperwork. It was handy. He got a couple of uninterrupted hours to get his work done every night.

The light was on in the kitchen, the small one over the sink. Gabrielle was standing there, wearing her bathrobe, her head in the refrigerator. When she heard his soft footfalls, she looked up.

“Is there pie left?” asked Iolaus, getting out plates and glasses.

“Yeah. Want milk with that?”

They sat at the kitchen table, eating silently, until Gabrielle asked, “What got you up tonight?”  
Iolaus tried to smile but his cheeks weren’t up to it. He pointed at his bare chest with his fork, a piece of apple pie on the tines. “The usual.”

“Are you still having that dream? I really thought it would stop when you got back to yourself."

"So did I but no such luck."

" I still think you should ask Hercules about it. Maybe he has some suggestions about what to do.”  
Iolaus sighed, concentrating on picking up all the crumbs of the crust on his fork. “Absolutely not. I know it would upset him. He still isn't sure taking me away from my accounting firm in Oregon was such a good idea and if he thought I was suffering in any way because of it, he'd be upset." Iolaus shook his head. "You know him. He worries too much about me. Always has. And, to be honest, I do not want to remind him of that death. Besides. . ." Now he did manage a weak smile. “I'm getting used to it. I don’t worry about how much I drink before I go to bed because I know I’ll be up in the middle of the night anyway. What got you up at this hour? The call of apple pie or something else?”

Gabrielle was studying her plate carefully. “A bad dream.”

“Want to talk about it?” 

“No. Yes.” She pushed her hands through her hair. “Every couple of nights lately. . .for the last few weeks anyway. . .I dream about Hope.”

“Hope?” Iolaus was confused for a moment, then he remembered. “Oh, that Hope.”

Pushing the last bits of pie around on her plate, Gabrielle spoke slowly. “I remember how she was. . .conceived. Or her birth. Or how I felt when I realized she really was. . .evil.”

“It’s my fault.”

That made her look up. “How can it be your fault?”

“My coming back and talking about my dreams made you start thinking about your. . .encounters with. . .” He couldn’t say the name. Every time he did, he felt fire in every nerve in his body, the way he had felt while Dahak possessed him. Pain that wouldn’t stop, agony that made him scream but he couldn’t because his mouth was no longer his. And he felt the shame that even after all this years, these ages, had never completed faded.

“Iolaus?”

“Huh? Sorry.” He swallowed, regretting that he had eaten because he felt sick. “My coming back made you think about . . .”

“You can’t blame yourself for my dreams.” She reached across the table and patted his hand. “Unless you are talking about the erotic ones.”

That made him feel better. He squeezed her hand back. 

Gabrielle sighed. "I've talked to Xena about it but she doesn't have any suggestions. And, just like you, she doesn't want anything mentioned to Hercules. " She smiled affectionately "I guess we're all pretty protective of each other." Then her smile faded. "You know, it really was hard for Hercules without you. I know you didn't miss him but he missed you so much. No matter what was going on, no matter how happy he was, there was always this. . .shadow. . .over him. You could almost see him looking over his shoulder for you."

"Funny thing is, I didn't know I was missing him but I was." He looked at her, his head tilted to one side, his voice soft. "I knew something was missing in my life and until he showed up, I didn't know what it was. All these years, you'd think we make more friends."

Gabrielle laughed softly. "We make new ones but the old ones are still the best. Ever hear the song, 'Make new friends but keep the old, one is silver and the other is gold.?"

"Nope. Nice sentiment, though." He smiled again.

She yawned, hugely. “I’m going back to bed. Are you coming?”

“No.” He let out a deep breath, willing himself to relax. “I usually get in what I think of as ‘Ian time’ at night. Got some fiscal years coming up I need to work on.”

She came around the table and kissed him on the top of his head. His hair wasn’t as long as Iolaus wore it sometimes but it was longer and sexier. She wanted to give him a hug, feel his smooth skin over his hard muscles, press her breasts against his back, but she knew now was not the time for that.

“G’night,” she whispered in his ear.

He sat at the table for a long time, not going upstairs to work. He was trying to remember the good times with Nebula but he wasn’t very successful. He usually wasn’t when he intentionally tried to remember something. He did best when he was distracted and just let the memories float up from wherever they hid but just now, he needed to remember the how he had felt when he was with her.

“Iolaus?”

Xena had approached so quietly he didn’t hear her. Her soft voice jerked him back to the present, even if one hand did instinctively reach for his sword.

“Xena. Eileen get you up?”

“Nope.” Xena shuffled past him, scratching herself through the plaid bathrobe she seemed to share with Hercules. “Had a nightmare.” She took the last piece of pie and sat opposite Iolaus, where Gabrielle had been sitting.

“Me, too.”

“Sometimes,” she said, around a mouthful of pie, “this past life crap can be real pain. All kinds of weird shit floats into your dreams.”

“Ditto. So, want to trade nightmare stories?”

Shaking her head so that her disordered hair swept the table top, Xena said, “Not really.”

“One question.” He braced himself to say the name. “Was Dahak involved in any way?”  


Xena’s head came up, her eyes narrow. “Been talking to Gabrielle about her dreams?”

“Yeah. You just missed her. She was down here five minutes ago. We were talking about. . .our nightmares. She gets. . .raped and I get killed pretty regularly these days.”

Xena pushed her plate away, a deep frown creasing her face. “I don’t want to talk about it,” she said grimly. "Unlike Gabrielle, I don't like to dwell on the ancient past."

“I understand but I really need to know.”

Sighing, she propped her forehead on her hands. Her voice was quiet and angry. “I was dreaming that Gabrielle was having a baby. Actually giving birth.”

“To Hope?”

“Maybe. But you were there.” A muscle twitched in Xena’s jaw. “I was holding her shoulders and you were. . .between her knees. She was. . .not having an easy time.”

“You can skip the details.”

Her voice flat, Xena finished. “As the baby was born, Gabrielle died. I tried to tell you but you didn’t care. You held up the baby and said as long as you had this child, nothing else mattered. And when I looked at you, you and that baby, you both had these. . .strange eyes. No iris, just almost all blackness.” She shivered. “Very creepy.”  


“And the way I looked when Dahak brought me back.”

“I guess.” She sat up, looking over Iolaus’ head, out the kitchen window, at something far away. “I never saw you then but Hercules described it to me. Happy?”

“No. Anything but.” Ian stood up, taking his plate and glass to the kitchen sink. “I have this horrible feeling that Dahak is. . .around.”

“Dahak was destroyed.”

He ran water over the plate and rinsed the glass, just to give his hands something to do. “He can’t be destroyed. He is destruction.”

When Xena grabbed his arm and spun him around, Iolaus, for a moment, genuinely feared for his life. Teeth gritted, she leaned close to him and hissed, “You will NOT bring this up to Hercules, do you understand?”

“But. . .”

“NOT! If he thinks for one second that you are threatened by that. . .thing again, he will not handle it well. It took too long to find you for him to risk losing you. I will not have him upset, do you understand?”  


No wonder armies had trembled before this woman. He felt as if he were prying apart the jaws of a lion about to snap his head off.

“Okay. I won’t mention it unless I absolutely have to.” 

“NOT at all!”

“Xena, be reasonable. I don’t want to upset him either. I have to live with an image in my mind of his face when I died. I don’t like that memory. I don’t want to see that look again. Unless Dahak drives up and rings the bell, I promise not to mention him. But he could. . .” 

“He. Is. Gone.” If anyone could will away manifest evil, it was Xena, defending the ones she loved.

Iolaus nodded. “I won’t mention that name. To Hercules. I promise.”

She let his arms go. He rubbed at the pain in his biceps. She had one heck of a grip. He knew she worked out in the gym in the basement, they all did, but she must spend more time down there then he realized.

Brushing her hair back, Xena said, in a very ordinary voice, “Good night, Iolaus. Sleep well.”

He stood looking out the window over the kitchen sink for a long time. The stars here weren’t quite the same as they were in Greece. Different latitude and longitude and thousands of years of stellar drift but the empty spaces in-between were just as vast. Sighing, he went back to bed.

***

Iolaus walked slowly towards the pool house. He could hear hammering and whistling, so he knew where to find his friend. Hercules was an excellent carpenter. Ian, who hadn’t known how to hang a picture so that it hung straight, let along design and build anything, was endlessly impressed as he watched Hercules taking piles of wood and nails and creating beautiful structures. 

“Hey.”

Hercules, shirtless at the top of a ladder, turned to Iolaus and waved. He was always happy to see Iolaus, even when he was wearing one of his accountant suits. Iolaus was back. Xena was pregnant again. Life was perfect.

“Hey. Take off than damned tie.” It was the one with dollar signs on it that Iolaus had been wearing the day Hercules rescued him. Hercules truly hated it.

Grinning, Iolaus removed his tie and his suit jacket, hanging both of them on a nail well away from where Hercules was working. He unbuttoned his shirt collar and prepared to roll up his sleeves when he thought, oh, to heck with it, and hung the shirt with the jacket. The sun was streaming through the rafters. He could find a comfortable spot to lie while he watched Hercules work.

“Hand me the Sawzall.”

“The what?” Iolaus knew the tools a blacksmith had used in ancient Greece but all these powered objects were beyond him.

“The reciprocating saw.”

“The what?”

“The long yellow thing with the blade sticking out the front. No, next to that. That.”

Iolaus picked up the tool and walked carefully through the piles of wood to hand it to Hercules.

“How soon are you going to be done so we can have the pool back?”

“I’d be done sooner if people helped me occasionally instead of wandering off into town whenever I start working.”

“Oh. That.”

Hercules hauled the saw up the ladder and cut whatever it was that needed cutting, then handed the tool back down to Iolaus.

“Herc.”

“Yeah.”

“I bought a house.”

Hercules stopped, turned, and frowned. “What?”

Iolaus sighed. “I bought a house in town. Now that I have an office there, it’s inconvenient for me to have to drive all the way up the canyon and back to get to work.”

“I don’t know why you needed an office. Why can’t you just telecommute? I’m told it’s the coming thing.”  
Hercules voice reminded Iolaus of a sulky child. While they were rediscovering their old friendship, the new one had its bad days. “Because I am a grown man and I am used to living my own life. Besides, Gabrielle has her own place.”

“Yeah, but. . .” Hercules climbed down the ladder, looking so miserable that Iolaus felt guilty. 

You knew he’d feel this way, the part of himself he still sometimes thought of as ‘Ian’ reminded him. 

“Herc, I can’t live here. Aside from how. . .weird. . .it looks, I have to be closer to work. And, with another baby on the way, you’ll need the space.”

“But we need you to help babysit!” Hercules smiled as persuasively as possible. “You’re great with Eileen.”

“I know.” He did love that little girl. “I’d forgotten how much I liked little kids. When I was in high school, I used to babysit the neighbor’s two boys, Ted and Sam. Those two were holy terrors. . .never mind.” Iolaus sat down on a pile of wood, running his hands through his now long hair. He hadn’t gotten an earring yet, although some mornings, when he was shaving, he thought about. “I’m used to living alone and sometimes, living out here in this commune. . .I’m sorry.”

Hercules sighed as he sat down next to his friend. “I know. Ian Andrew Farney has a life, too.”

“I’ll be an hour away. We’ll see each other all the time. It’s not like it was before.”

“Yeah. I guess. It’s still nice to have you around.” 

Hercules leaned back, closing his eyes. Ian had a flash of memory of one of those things that Iolaus recalled quite cheerfully but Ian wasn’t entirely comfortable remembering. There were times in ancient Greece, where the cultural attitude towards sexuality was different than it was in modern America, that Ian was just not going to remember.

“It’s nice to be around.”

“So,” Hercules said, reaching for a cooler he kept in a shady spot, “tell me about the house.”

Iolaus took the offered beer and twisted off the cap. “Late twenties bungalow. Big energy retrofit in the late eighties so it has a decent furnace, good windows, new roof and attic insulation. Kitchen needs work and there is the most hideous avocado green shag carpet in the master bedroom. It must have been really quality stuff when it was installed twenty-five years ago, which is why it lasted, but it has got to go.” 

“I didn’t know you were a decorator.”

“I’m not but that carpet is so hideous. . .it looks like something Echidna might have in her house.”

The two men laughed.

“Weird, isn’t it,” said Iolaus as he lay down, tucking one hand under his head, the cool bottle resting on his belly. “All those monsters and now the only one left is the Loch Ness monster and it’s so tame, tourists pet the damn thing.”

“World has changed.” Hercules sighed again. “I miss it, sometimes, the way it used to be.”

“Yeah, it had its moments but still, there is a lot to be said for this day and age.”

“C’mon, Iolaus. We had adventures. . .”

“We had filth and disease and a total lack of sanitation.” He propped himself up on his elbows so he could look at Hercules. “Or have you forgotten? Do you know what the statistics were for infant mortality in the ancient world?”

“Okay, so there problems.”

“Cholera. Smallpox. Blood poisoning. Plague.” Iolaus was ticking things off like the accountant he was. “I had dysentery once--I think it was dysentery but it was called the bloody flux and brother, it was not pleasant. Then there’s the whole maternal death rate. . .” 

His voice faded a moment as he remembered the woman he had mourned so long ago. When he spoke again, Iolaus’ voice was hard.

“Parasites. Typhoid. Tuberculosis.”

“Jeez, I get your point.” Hercules was frowning. “Okay, so there were disadvantages to the old days but at least. . .evil was something direct. It had a name and a face and I could fight it.”

Iolaus smiled at his friend’s expression. “You still fight it. How long were you in the Peace Corps, did you say? Six years? And now you’re involved in Habitat for Humanity, the Special Olympics, the Food Bank. . .You should keep better records, you know. I could take a lot more off your taxes. . .”

“Stop.” Hercules held his hand up. “No more tax conversation.”  


“You help people one at a time, just the way you always did. Only now, it is a lot less violent.”

“Yeah, but sometimes, it was nice to just kick the bad guy’s ass and get it over with.”

Iolaus held up his beer bottle in a toast. “True. You still kick ass occasionally. Remember the muggers in the parking lot?” He took a long swallow, his expression turning thoughtful. “I wonder if that’s why we keep coming back.”

“Huh? Come back from where? Oregon?”

“Wherever we go when we are dead. Don’t you ever think about it? I mean, how many lifetimes have we had?”

“Ah, this is the fourteenth, I think.”

“Why do we keep coming back? Are we destined to fight evil for eternity? How come we don’t get to Nirvana or where ever souls are supposed to go eventually?” Iolaus sat up, crossing his legs. “ Does everyone get reincarnated or just certain people? I mean--there are all sorts of metaphysical questions our lives raise. Don’t you ever think about them? Didn’t you take philosophy classes in college?”

Hercules looked pained. “I was a civil engineering major in college. Metaphysics was not on my list of interests.” He brightened. “I do know a heck of a lot about ancient aqueducts. The Minoans had flush toilets, did you know that?”

Iolaus laughed. He didn’t realize it but even after fourteen lifetimes and millenniums of existence, he still had the same slightly maniacal laugh. Hercules knew it, though, and smiled broadly return.  


“Seriously, Herc, do you think that’s why we keep coming back? That we are meant to fight evil, in whatever form, forever?”

Hercules shrugged. “Maybe. I’m not sure I like the idea of fighting evil for eternity.” He squinted down the neck of his beer bottle. “Eternity is a long time.”

“Herc?”

“Yeah?”

“You remember more of those lifetimes, don’t you? All the ones in-between ancient Greece and now?”  


“Yeah. More than anybody else, I guess.”

“Were we together in all of them?”

“You and me? Yeah. Not all of us, not all the time. Sometimes Jason is with us. Sometimes its just you and me. This is the first time Xena and Gabrielle have been with us in, I dunno, half a dozen lifetimes. And the only one I can remember where Joxer put in an appearance.”

Iolaus sat up, studying his friend’s profile. “You’ve gotten tired of it, haven’t you? Fighting evil?”

Hercules sighed. “It’s so different this time. You weren’t here, to begin with, and with all the changes in technology, the fights changed.” He looked up, staring into space. Iolaus had the feeling he was looking back in time. “I meant it when I said I liked to kick ass. I liked direct results. Bad guy here.” Hercules gestured with the bottle. “Good guy here. Get rid of bad guy and the innocents in the middle are saved. Now it’s. . .fill out this form, be sure you have liability insurance, take a number. It’s not the same.”

To Hercules’ surprise, Iolaus suddenly laughed again. “We used to be a lot more physical. Whomping on the bad guys got the blood flowing. Now we click on an internet address and a couple of bucks are electronically transferred to a fund that helps buy land preserves in the Amazon jungle. No blood flow.”

“No.” Hercules grinned back. “On the other hand, you haven’t had to pull arrows out of me and I haven’t had to stitch up any of your body parts or set any bones or. . .” The grin vanished abruptly and Iolaus knew what his friend was thinking.

“Or bury me. No, we don’t have to do that.” He sighed. “But it almost feels as if we aren’t really doing anything. At least, compared to the old days. Jeez, one minute I’m griping about not missing the old days and the next minute, I’m waxing nostalgic about how I loved beating people up.”

“I know how you feel.” Hercules sighed. “Something about this lifetime is just so different than the others. I feel. . .confused.” He tilted his head to look at Iolaus. “Or maybe, after fourteen lifetimes of getting the shit kicked out of us, we are getting a break. Maybe that’s why you’re an accountant. It’s a nice safe job and the Powers That Be decided this time around, we can take it easy for a change.”

“Maybe.” Iolaus finished his beer. “I didn’t take many philosophy courses either. I guess as long as we are trying, that’s what counts. Still, it feels sort of funny, all of us hiding away here, doing ordinary things, when we used to do such extraordinary stuff.”

“All I know is, having you to back me up, even if it is only with tax deductions, makes me happy.” Hercules looked uncomfortable and cleared his throat. “So, when do we get to see the new house? Have you considered who to hire to do your remodeling? I can recommend a good carpenter.”

“Let me guess.”

Joxer was hollering from the house, asking if Iolaus was cooking dinner or should he fire up the barbecue. Sighing, Iolaus stood up.

“I better get involved in dinner or we’ll be eating those charcoal briquettes Joxer calls hamburgers.”

“I better get back to the pool house. Someone has been complaining about how long it is taking.”

As Iolaus walked slowly back to the house, his coat, shirt and tie over one arm, he considered the questions he had just asked Hercules. Maybe the others all dealt with this in their youth but he found himself dwelling on it more and more. Why did they keep coming back? He’d have to discuss it with Gabrielle. She had to have taken some philosophy classes in college. 

College? What was there about his college days that bothered him? Iolaus shook his head, muttering, “I should drink more beer and think less. It always worked for me before.”


	6. An old enemy returns, too

Hercules looked up from his exercises, surprised to see Iolaus coming down the stairs into the gym.

“Hey, I thought you had a heavy date this weekend.”

Iolaus gave him a dark look. “I don’t know who told you that but she was wrong.”

“Well, as long as you’re here, you can spot me.”

The bigger man left the treadmill to lie on the bench beneath the barbell. Iolaus looked at the weights mounted on the bar, instantly adding up the numbers.

“If you expect me to lift that off your neck, you are seriously mistaken.”

“I don’t expect you to lift it, just make sure I’m not dropping one arm.”

Iolaus took the spotter’s position at the head of the weight bench. Hercules might not have the strength of ten or whatever it was he was supposed to have had in ancient Greece but he could still lift three times what Iolaus could. As he watched Hercules effortlessly press the heavy bar up and down, a memory of waking up one morning, finding himself being used as a weight being lifted over Hercules’ head, flickered through his mind. In the past year, most of what he thought of as his memories now had come back but every now and then, some little detail turned up unexpectedly.

“Twenty.” With Iolaus guiding the bar, Hercules set the weights back on their stands. He at least had the decency to sound winded. “I turned on the new sauna, if you’re interested.”

“Nah. I just got here.” 

Hercules shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

Joxer’s latest game, cheerfully named “To Die for Ares,” was a huge bestseller. Every bloodthirsty teenager in the world was signing up to do battle in the service of Ares. The rest of them, Xena especially, had been offended, until Joxer pointed out that, in the game, the trick to winning was to defeat the god of war. And, if you looked closely, whenever Ares appeared on screen, he was distinctly cross-eyed. 

With the latest proceeds, and some extra money Joxer had earned by following Iolaus’ investment advice, he had upgraded the gym in the basement to what had already impressed Iolaus as a very well-equipped private health club. Joxer was having a wave machine installed in the pool outside, too, and was already dreaming up some crazy outdoor course for them to practice their warrior’s skills.

Frankly, thought Iolaus, setting the weight machine down to a level he could handle, he thought that was getting pretty ridiculous. None of them were warriors now. Harry Leo was a custom carpenter. Louise Blackmun Leo was horse trainer, currently in retirement due to her pregnancy. Jack Holland was a software engineer. Gabriella O’Brien was a professor of archaeology. And Ian Farney was a plain, ordinary accountant. He was still a partner in Feldman, Finch, Phillips and Farney, now running their western Montana office, living officially in a restored 1920’s bungalow in town, spending his weekends with his oddball friends on the rich computer guy’s ranch. He wasn’t a warrior. For that matter, he never had been, not in this life, not in this body. . .

Losing concentration, Iolaus’ hand slipped off the handle and flew back, hitting the support behind him. Swearing, he sat up, sucking on his injured knuckles. This was ridiculous! Why should a middle-aged accountant be wasting all this time on this stupid weight-lifting? He didn't need a strong sword arm anymore.  


He glanced over at the closed door of the sauna but immediately decided against it. Additional steam wouldn’t improve his mood. Abandoning the gym, he stomped upstairs and out through the kitchen to the back deck. The scene that greeted him there didn’t help. A bright yellow back hoe was roaring around the lake, working on Joxer’s idiot ‘warrior’s path.’ That’s what he was calling it. He’d even asked Iolaus if he could write it off on his taxes claiming that the course would help him design games more realistically.

“There you are.” Gabrielle’s cheerful voice broke into Iolaus’ thoughts. “Have I got something to show you! Something wrong?”

Iolaus sighed. “No. Just a long week. What’s that?”

Gabrielle was holding a copy of “Archaeology Today” but she didn’t show it to him. Instead, she got her ‘concerned friend’ look as she studied his face.

“I thought you had a date with Olivia Fastbinder?”

“I did.”

“What happened? I thought you two really hit off. . .”

“We did but think about it!” He was aware that his voice was rising. “I can’t get involved with some outsider when I’m part of this.” His gesture encompassed not just Joxer’s back yard but all of their complex interrelationships. “Hey, Olivia, you’re welcome to join us for dinner but we don’t call each by our real names. Well, actually we do. This isn’t Harry Leo, this is really Hercules, yes, that Hercules, the semi-divine one. . .”

Drily, Gabrielle interrupted him. “I get the idea. But we do know how to behave around the rest of the world, you know. I have lunch with Olivia regularly and I have never told her about my past lives.”

“Sorry.” Iolaus sat down, resting his elbows on his knees so he could hold his head. “Just the sexual frustration talking, I guess.”

“If you went out with Olivia. . .”

He sighed. “I know. Last night, we went out to dinner and I had a great time.” Looking up at Gabrielle, he managed a weak smile. “We laughed. We talked about all sorts of safe things, like politics and religion. Not once did I mention I’m the reincarnation of Greek warrior.”

“So?”

“So. . .” He let out a long breath. “We went to her place. She has condo near the river. Great view. We drank some wine. We talked. And if I had wanted to, I am absolutely certain we would have made love. And it would have been fabulous.” He covered his face again. “And then I would had to leave before I fell asleep because there is no way to explain why I always wake up in the middle of the night, dying.”

“I don’t understand why that keeps happening.”

“Neither do I but it does.”’

“You don’t have to stay over. . .”

Iolaus tried to laugh but failed, settling for a sharp exhalation of breath. “I would want to. I never liked getting up and getting dressed afterwards. One of my favorite things used to be making love again in the morning, back in the days before everyone brushed their teeth before kissing. And, if I did get seriously involved with Olivia. . .and I really felt last night as if I could. . .sooner or later, I’d fall asleep and then I’d wake up screaming.”

Gabrielle’s hand rested on his shoulder, feeling the tension in muscles. “Maybe. . .”

Abruptly, Iolaus stood up and moved away to lean on the railing. “I don’t want to talk about it.” He turned so he was facing her. “You said you wanted to show me something.”

“Oh.” Gabrielle looked down at the magazine in her hand. She had completely forgotten it. “I came across the darnest thing in an article on textiles.” There was a marker in the magazine. She opened it to the page and handed it to Iolaus.

There were four color photographs on a page, each one showing a fragment of ancient fabric. Three of them were brown, coarsely woven, and of no interest to Iolaus. The fourth made his heart skip a beat. It was square fragment, pale in color, with a darker circular pattern embroidered on it. Underneath, the caption gave measurements and a description of the weaving and sewing techniques, plus an estimation of the date of the material.

Iolaus laid his finger on the photo. He remembered all these crazy things about a life in ancient Greece but this picture of a ragged scrap of material suddenly made everything real. He wasn’t hallucinating. He wasn’t imagining. He really had lived thousands of years ago. Lived, he thought, tracing the pattern in the picture, and died, thousands of years ago.

“That’s from your vest, isn’t it?” Gabrielle’s voice was soft with awe.

“It doesn’t say it was found at a burial site, does it?”

“No. It was found at a garbage dump, near ancient Ithaca.”

He laughed softly. “That’s appropriate. Hercules always said it looked liked something I should use for cleaning, not wearing.” He flipped the page to read the article and saw the author’s name: Dr. Ariadne Clancy.

“Iolaus? Iolaus?”

He didn’t hear Gabrielle’s frantic voice. He was completely unaware that he had slumped down on the deck, eyes closed, his face gone white.

“IOLAUS?” 

She was shaking his shoulder. A moment later, he heard a man’s voice shouting his name, felt himself lifted in a strong grip and sat down in a chair. When he opened his eyes, he found Gabrielle and Hercules staring at him, their faces drawn with worry. Gabrielle even had a cell phone in her hand, as if she planned to call for help.

“How could I forget?”

Gabrielle and Hercules exchanged puzzled glances.

“It is a surprise,” Hercules said, sounding relieved. Iolaus had been so pale and withdrawn at the sight of the scrap from his old vest that Hercules had been worried. “Amazing it survived all these years. . .”

Iolaus made an impatient gesture. “Not the vest. Ariadne. How could I have forgotten Ariadne and the accident. It explains everything.”

Gabrielle’s voice was more annoyed now than worried. “Not to me it doesn’t.”

Iolaus sat back in the chair, his expression distant, what his friends thought of as his ‘figuring face,’ put on when he was working out some problem. Hercules and Gabrielle exchanged puzzled looks, shrugged, and sat in chairs facing him. After a long pause, he started to speak.

“It’s weird. I should have remembered, of all things, that accident! But now that I do, everything falls into place.” He leaned forward, concentrating on his friends now. “Where’s Xena?”

Hercules answered. “In town. She’s probably not going to be back for a couple of hours if you want to include her in this conversation. And Joxer won’t be back until tomorrow.”

Iolaus shook his head. “No. I most certainly do not want to wait for Xena because she will not want me to tell you what I’m going to tell you.”

It was Gabrielle’s turn. “Why not?”

“Let me start at the beginning. Then you’ll understand.” Iolaus took a deep breath, knowing that Hercules would be unhappy when he finished his explanation.

“When I was a history major in college, I had a girlfriend named Ariadne Clancy.” He pointed to the name at the top of the article. She was half Greek and half Irish. Had very odd taste in food but she was gorgeous. 

“Anyway, she was going to Greece over the summer between our sophomore and junior years and I was going along. It was all planned. I even had my tickets. And I was driving home over spring break.” He stopped, eyes distant again for a moment. “I don’t remember the actual accident, which with a massive head injury is pretty normal, but I was told afterwards that a drunk going like a bat out of hell and passing on a blind curve, hit my car head on. I guess everyone thought I was going to die. Or at the very least come out of it with serious impairments because I had a nasty depressed skull fracture and was in a coma for three weeks.”

Without being aware of it, Iolaus’s hand reached up along the side of his head, under his hair, and traced the scar hidden there. His audience listened with rapt attention to his soft, calm voice.

“When I came out of it, Ariadne was there. She was so happy. And then she said, being funny because it was tense situation, that she would be happier when my hair grew out because they shaved my head because of the injury. I could barely talk but I told her I thought I’d keep it short from now on.

“Later, after we talked several more times, I found out she went to the neurosurgeon, to ask him if I would ever be myself again. He told her that major personality changes after a serious head injury aren’t that uncommon and that the person I was before the accident was gone.”

“How major a personality change?” asked Gabrielle as Iolaus fell silent.

“Major.” He smiled. “I became Ian. I didn’t remember being Iolaus for so long because of that accident. I had started to remember before it. I remember telling Ariadne about a ‘novel’ I was going to write someday about the guy who was the hero’s best friend. But while I was in the coma, all that was buried again. I became an accounting major, never went to Greece, was dumped by Ariadne and started dating another business major who wasn’t nearly as. . .exciting. . .as Ariadne had been.”

Hercules grinned. “So this accident explains why you took so long to get to be you again! Mystery solved!”

“No.” Iolaus’ voice was still soft, but so serious that Hercules instantly stopped smiling.

“I remember now. . .the dreams. . .nightmares. . .hallucinations I had while I was unconscious for those three weeks. They were every awful thing that ever happened to Iolaus. Every injury, every sorrow, every mistake.” Hercules started to interrupt but Iolaus silenced him with a gesture. “Every bad thing, amplified a thousand times, and always centering around. . .”

Gabrielle said it for him, when she saw how much pain he was in.

“Dahak.”

Iolaus realized he was shaking. He took a deep breath. “Yes.”

Hercules’s voice was flat. “We defeated Dahak thousands of years ago and tossed him into a pit from which he couldn’t escape.”

“Couldn’t he?” Iolaus raised his eyebrows. “Look around you, Herc. The world has been on the edge of destruction since it was created. We may have shoved him in a hole for a while but Dahak can’t be destroyed because he is destruction. He is the opposite side of the balance and has to be there. Ideally, in balance with creation, but as we know, sometimes he gets ambitious. He wants it all.”

Gabrielle reached out and took one of Iolaus’ hands, feeling how cold it was, feeling its trembling. She knew it wasn’t from fear of Dahak. It was from the fear of what Iolaus had to say and how it would effect all of them.

“Was Dahak responsible for the accident?”

“I don’t know. But he took advantage of it. He. . .influenced me while I was unable to fight back.”

“How do you know. . .” began Hercules.

“Because I dream about my death at his hands every night!”

Hercules frowned. Unlike Gabrielle, he didn’t know about the nightmare that woke his friend every night. 

“Really? Every night?”

Iolaus sighed, running his hands through his hair. “I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d be upset but every night, since that night in the motel in Idaho, I wake up around two o’clock in the morning with a dagger in my chest, dying in your arms. Sometimes I barely notice, just shrug it off and go pee and sometimes. . .” He voice trailed off at the pain in Hercules’ eyes. “I couldn’t understand why. Gabrielle and I have talked about it but we could never come with an explanation.”

Gabrielle, turning away from Hercules’ accusing stare, said, “So, you think the accident. . .”

“Not the accident. Dahak. When I was in that coma, he somehow pushed Iolaus down. He got rid of the warrior he feared and turned me into an accountant who didn’t believe in anything he couldn’t touch or add up. And he’s been checking up on me ever since.”

“Are you. . .”

“Herc, I can feel him. Gabrielle has sometimes, too. He can. . .sense us and we can sense him because of what he did to us. That’s what’s he does every night. He checks up on me. He. . .touches my soul and reminds me that I don’t want to do battle with him again.”

Hercules stood up, his face white, every muscle in his body tense. “So, you think he is around somewhere and coming after you.”

“Not exactly. I know he is around somewhere but he wants to keep me from coming after him. I am the one. . .soul in the whole world he fears.” Unexpectedly, Iolaus chuckled, a sound of genuine amusement. “Sorry, this is accountant humor but he fears me because I am the one soul he can’t repossess!”

Hercules put his hands over his face and muttered, “Oi vey.”

“Get it? Repossess?” 

Gabrielle sighed, leaning back and letting Iolaus’ hand go. “We get it.”

Standing up, Iolaus started to pace the deck, his hands moving as he spoke, more like the old Iolaus than he ever had been. “He is afraid of me because I am the one person who can resist him. He can’t lie to me because he knows I won’t believe him. He can’t persuade me or trick me or use me. I am immune to Dahak, which means, while I can’t destroy him, I can stick him back in his hole where he belongs.”

“I could use some help here!”

The voice came from Xena, who was walking around from the garage, holding Eileen’s hand, a package in her other. She was six months pregnant and looked both glowingly healthy and tired. Eileen, upon seeing her favorite people, broke free of her mother and toddled frantically up to Hercules, Gabrielle and Iolaus, her arms up, begging for any one of them to pick her up. It was Iolaus who swept her, giggling, into his arms, burying his face in her belly, enjoying the sweet smell of innocence.

“What in Tartarus is going on?” At the expression on the faces of the two adults she loved most in all the world, she knew something awful had happened. “Is it Joxer?”

“No.” Gabrielle tried to look casual and knew she was failing miserably. “We were just talking about an accident Iolaus was in years ago. We think it explains why it took so long for him. . .”

“You. Told. Him.”

“Xena!” Hercules looked shocked. “How could you know about Dahak checking up on Iolaus. He just figured it out!”

Her eyes were fierce. “I told you,” she hissed at Iolaus, her expression so angry that Eileen started to cry, “not to mention that name to him ever.” 

“Xena, I had to.”

Hercules took his daughter into one arm as he slipped the other around his wife’s waist. “He did. He had to tell us because what he told us was he is safe.” Hercules smiled. “Iolaus is absolutely safe from Dahak. Right?”

Iolaus smiled in return, grateful for those years as businessman that taught Ian how to smile when he didn’t feel like it, a talent Iolaus had never developed. In the old days, Hercules would have seen through the mask but now, either because of Ian’s practice or Hercules desire to believe what he had just said, Hercules thought everything was fine.

"Right."

*** 

“Iolaus?” Gabrielle pushed open the back door and stuck her head inside. The kitchen was mess, with plaster walls in need of patching, a floor stripped down to the joists and tools piled up on sheets of plywood laid down so it was possible to walk from the back door through to the rest of the house.

“In here.”

Cautiously, Gabrielle walked into the dining room, where Iolaus was sitting at the table, eating a bowl of cereal. This room was full of construction debris as well, ladders leaned against walls, enormous boxes labeled “base style 11304” and the like, more tools and piles of sawdust. Along one wall, Iolaus had set up a microwave and a dorm size refrigerator.

“I’d offer you breakfast,” he said, glancing up from his newspaper, “but I just used the last of the milk.”

“You look lousy,” she said as she sat down, moving some samples of countertop off the chair. “Bad night.”

Iolaus snorted. “Record breaker. I am getting really, really tired of dying. I tell you, I’ve gotten to the point where I keep hoping I’ll at least dream of a different death. I’d prefer to be beaten to death by the Fire Enforcer or maybe get turned to stone again--which, for the record, is astonishingly painful--anything but that damn dagger.” He put his paper down and rubbed his bloodshot eyes. “The really annoying part is, I am surprised every time that stupid knife comes flying out of the smoke at Nebula. While I’m dreaming, it’s like it never happened before.”

“Keeps it fresh so it stays effective.”

“I guess.” He stirred his bran flakes slowly, wishing he could convince himself to eat bacon and eggs every morning like Hercules. “So, what brings you to Moneypit Hall?”

Reaching into the tote bag she had brought with her, Gabrielle pulled out a video tape.

“I am still annoyed that here we are, living less than two hours from Yellowstone Park, and I can’t convince you to take a couple of days off and go tour it.”

“I’m not a big nature buff.” Iolaus pushed his chair back.

“Well, I got this great tape from a friend in the film and tv department. If this can’t convince you to come with me next weekend, nothing will.” She laid it on the table where Iolaus picked it up, reading the typed label on the spine.

“So you want me to watch it, huh?”

“That’s the idea.” Gabrielle was worried. The last few weeks, she had been watching Iolaus carefully. It was obvious he wasn’t sleeping well; every time she saw him, he had dark circles under his red-rimmed eyes. And she had the distinct feeling he was avoiding going out to Joxer’s house, although the new baby had all of them sleep-deprived as well. “I’m telling you, as an old, old, old friend, you need to get out and enjoy some fresh air.”

“Like the air around here is polluted.” He managed a tired smile. “What the hell, want to watch it now? I don’t have anything pressing on my schedule this afternoon.”

Gabrielle bounced to her feet, scooping up the tape. “Why not?”

The living room wasn’t as messy as the kitchen and dining room. Iolaus, a mug of coffee in his hand, slumped into the couch while Gabrielle turned on the tv and popped the tape in the vcr. She sat next to him, the remote in her hand, and started the tape. 

He watched, his eyes half closed, while Gabrielle narrated the footage. It mostly the usual tourist travelogue that Iolaus had seen before: Old Faithful, Mammoth terraces, Morning Glory pool, some elk and bison wandering around through clouds of steam. Then a cave came on the screen. A black hole belching steam and roaring. Iolaus sat up, touching Gabrielle on the shoulder.

“What did you say that is again?”

“Oh.” She rewound the tape. “Dragon’s Mouth Geyser.” He was staring at the screen so intently, she rewound it again. “It’s not one of the big tourist spots, I suppose because you can’t see much but it makes the terrific noise. No one is quite sure what’s in there because there isn’t any way to get anyone or anything inside without it getting boiled. That’s one of the amazing things about the Park. There is so much that is unknown because there is just no way to explore in the thermal features themselves. There is some progress in Yellowstone Lake, where the temperatures aren’t so extreme, but no one had developed a safe way to send probes into most of the geysers for fear of damaging them. The assumption is Dragon’s Mouth is pretty deep because of the echo and the roar but nobody knows for sure.”

Iolaus rested his chin on Gabrielle’s shoulder while she ran the short segment of footage over again. 

“I’ve seen that before,” he muttered, taking his glasses off and polishing them before he watched the geyser again.

“Maybe in a documentary on the Park. There must a zillion of them. PBS sticks one on every time they want to raise money.”

“Maybe that’s it.” 

Gabrielle started the tape again but Iolaus didn’t lean back. Instead, he leaned forward, sliding an arm around her waist as he began to nuzzle her shoulder.

“Iolaus?” she said, puzzled but pleased.

He didn’t answer, just pulled her body closer to his and began to kiss the back of her neck in earnest as he other hand began a slow stroke up her thigh.

“Oh, Gabrielle,” he whispered into her ear, as his arm tightened around her, his hand reaching up to cup one breast.

She had never known a man to find scenery so stimulating but she wasn’t going to complain. With a sigh, she leaned back against Iolaus, letting him do whatever she wanted.

As for Iolaus, what he wanted was to lose himself in the sensations of sex, forget what he had realized the instant he saw the footage of the cave and the geyser. He pulled Gabrielle close, capturing her mouth in a long, intense kiss, while his hands stroked her body, her breasts, her thighs, unfastening any impediment to his touch. Her hands snaked around behind her so she could grasp the back of his head, wrapping her fingers in his long, wavy hair, pulling him down to kiss her even harder.

Gabrielle moaned into his kiss as she felt his hard cock pressing into her back. Iolaus kept one hand between her legs, stroking softly and maddeningly, as he used his other hand to quickly unfasten his jeans. He stood up enough to shove his pants quickly to the floor, then leaned forward, forcing Gabrielle onto her knees. He kissed her, starting at the back of her neck, then trailing hot bites and licks down her spine until his tongue tickled her between the cleft of her buttocks. She moaned again, rocking back against him, catching his shaft between their bodies, grinding back until she heard him groan.

His fingers slid between her lower lips, finding them wet and swollen. He rubbed her, taking her moisture unto his fingers so he could use it to coat his cock. Then he parted her as he guided himself into her.

There was that awkward moment, as they both shifted, finding their balance and the right angle and then Iolaus was thrusting into Gabrielle, hard and fast, and she was pushing back. He kept one hand against her, pressing and stroking, until she was shivering and gasping.

"Iolaus." She cried his name as she felt her inner muscles begin to spasm around him. "Oh, yes, oh, yes, oh yes. . ." The words trailed off into an inarticulate babble of pleasure as her back arched and she came.

Behind her, Iolaus shifted his hands to grip her hips firmly so he could thrust into her even harder and deeper. He was gritting his teeth, his eyes closed, his entire body focused on the wet heat surrounding him. Unconsciously, he shook his head back, to clear the burning sweat from his eyes. Beneath him, Gabrielle braced herself, stunned at the sudden intensity of this encounter. They had barely touched each other in the year since Ian had become Iolaus and now this. She wondered about it for a moment but then his hand was on her again as he changed the angle of his thrust and she stopping thinking about anything.

In the past year, all of Iolaus' sexual encounters had been quick and impersonal, women he met, fucked and forgot, relief for sexual tension, nothing else. This wasn't a release of sexual tension as much as it was one last, glorious moment with someone who loved him, someone who knew who he really was. He wished he could tell Gabrielle that, wished he could tell all of them how he felt. Then his orgasm swept over him.

"Iolaus?" Gabrielle's voice was breathless. 

He knew what she was going to do as soon as he stopped making love to her. She was going to ask why, after all this time, he suddenly was unable to control his lust and fucked her so quickly and intensely. Iolaus didn't want to answer her questions so he just rolled her over and buried his head between her thighs, putting his tongue to work, taking her mind away from her again.

The tape played out silently in the machine, automatically rewinding when it reached the end.

They made love all afternoon, until Iolaus was exhausted and Gabrielle realized she had to be somewhere. She borrowed his shower, planning to ask him what had gotten into him but when she came back to the living room, he was curled up on the couch, soundly asleep. Sighing, Gabrielle pulled an afghan off the back of the couch, spreading it over his glorious naked body. She'd ask him tomorrow, when he came out to the ranch. Then she'd find out why geysers in Yellowstone Park drove him into a sexual frenzy. Not that she was complaining, she thought as she pulled the tape out of the VCR, turning off all the electronics, but she sure was puzzled. Tomorrow.

***


	7. And it goes around

Driving through Yellowstone Park at night was an eerie experience. The trees pressed close against the narrow road, dark and mysterious, the headlights of a passing car occasionally reflecting in the eyes of an animal hidden there. Iolaus had forgotten what the world was like before paved roads and modern technology. As he glanced into the forest outside his car, he remembered what life was like when nights weren’t lit by streetlights and when wolves and bears still stalked men as prey.

When he turned off to the geyser basin, the trip became even more unearthly, the steam rising in great white clouds in the cool night air, sometimes obscuring his vision until he had to bring the car to a halt and wait for the wind to shift or the geysers next to the road to stop puffing hot water into the sky.

Iolaus should have been terrified, shaking in his shoes. If not Iolaus, than Ian, but he was calm. This was his destiny, had been from the moment he had first been born, all those long centuries ago. Death meant nothing to him, just a pause between lives.

Although, it did hurt to think about leaving behind all his newly found friends. He hoped they would understand.

With his accountant’s attention to detail, Iolaus had prepared everything before he made this trip. His friends thought he was going to Oregon for a few days for some boring business meetings. If he lived through this little adventure, he’d be back and they’d be none the wiser. If he didn’t, a package would be sent by a mailing service to answer, he hoped, all their questions. Now all he had to do was defeat his worst enemy one more time.

The instant he saw the geyser on the tape Gabrielle had shown him, Iolaus had know when and where to find Dahak. Dahak was not as strong in this life, in this time, as he had been when he killed Iolaus before. In order to focus his energies enough to enter Iolaus’ dreams, Dahak found a place that reminded him of his own destructive realm. There, in the dark of night, Dahak could stare into the bowels of the earth and use the image to focus his thoughts on Iolaus. With luck, he was there even now, staring at the steam, perhaps noticing that Iolaus, for some reason, wasn’t asleep just yet.

Iolaus drove into the parking lot. There wasn’t another car there. Tourists didn’t wander through the geyser basins in the middle of the night. Gods of Destruction, however, didn't need mortal transportation and preferred the darkness. He parked, checked the map he had gotten from the ranger at the entrance, and left the car, walking slowly up the trail towards Dragon’s Mouth geyser.

The air was cold, yet humid, stinking with sulfur but fresh with the scent of pines and clean mountain streams. It was a contradictory place, thought Iolaus, perfect for this confrontation. The sounds were like the air, contradictory, absolute silence as only can be found far away from the rumble of civilization, broken by the roar and bubble of nature gone mad.

It was, Iolaus reflected, pausing to look up at those impossibly bright, uncountable stars that were so overwhelming when viewed through the clear, high altitude air, undimmed by electric lights, a lovely place to die. 

Iolaus walked slowly up the wooden walkway that lead to Dragon’s Mouth Geyser. He heard it before he saw it, roaring and whooshing with a sound that had become familiar to him after a year and a half of nightly dreams. Just as the black curve of rock that formed the cave making up the mouth of the geyser came into view, Iolaus stopped. He wished he had a sword, even if he knew the weapon would be next to useless. Still, his hand clasped reflexively, missing the comforting feel of the hilt in his hand.

Now or never, boyo, he thought and stepped forward.

In the silver moonlight, all the color had been drained from the landscape. With everything around him visible only in shades of grey, the roar of the geyser and the clouds of steam seemed oddly appropriate. This was an otherworldly place to destroy an otherworldly creature.

Standing, back to Iolaus, facing into the sulfurous clouds of steam, was small figure. Iolaus approached cautiously, his sneakers making no sound as he walked. 

Dahak was an old woman, with short white hair, wearing a light-colored jacket and dark trousers. As Iolaus started up the curving steps to where the woman stood, she turned around and Iolaus saw, even through a sudden gust of steam, the glowing red eyes of his enemy.

“Ah, my old friend.”

Iolaus recognized the voice. It sent a shiver of ice water through his belly. He had heard it often enough, in his dreams and, long, long ago, echoing in his own head.

“Hello, Dahak. You’re looking lousy.”

The laugh was deep and unnatural, especially coming from a hard-faced old woman. “Limitations of the mortal flesh. You know how it is."

"Yeah, I do."

"She was a tough old broad when I first got her," said Dahak, running arthritic hands over the flesh he inhabited. "Mean as a mad rattler." He laughed again. "I learned that term from her. But it's been more than forty years and I need someone new." A wide grin split the aged face. "Or maybe someone old."

"Funny." Iolaus walked up the last few steps to stand now only a pace away from his enemy. "I never thought you were stupid. Mean, ugly, greedy, annoying and unpleasant but not stupid."

Dahak's smile faltered. "Whatever do you mean, Iolaus?"

"You think you can get me again, don't you?" Now it was Iolaus' turn to smile. "You think, once I'm dead, you can trick me into handing over my soul and my body to you." He shook his head, enjoying the feel of his hair brushing his face as he did. Ian faded into a distant memory. 

"Trick you? I'm hurt. I thought we were working together. If it hadn't been for Hercules. . ." The name came out as a hiss. "we would still be together, ruling the world, enjoying the power of the gods and the pleasures of the flesh. Remember?"

Softly, his expression turning to sorrow, Iolaus said, "I remember pain. I remember anger and humiliation and shame and agony but I don't remember pleasure or power. Maybe you felt it but I didn't."

"Pity." The eyes flashed red. "I'll have to make sure you enjoy it more this time. This old lady has had a wonderful time. The stories she could tell."

"I know what she'd say. She'd say Damn you, Dahak, for making me suffer."

For an instant, a look of astonishment flashed across the woman's face. It was gone as quickly as it appeared but it was enough. Iolaus knew the soul of the woman whose body Dahak was inhabiting was as miserable as Iolaus' had been. She was on his side. With two against one, Iolaus would win.

He would die but he would win.

"Don't be a fool," said the destructive god. "Really, Iolaus, you can be such a bore. All this moral superiority, learned from that annoying friend of yours, no doubt. What I need to enter this world is a warrior's heart and no one can be a warrior without being violent, without knowing rage and blood lust and the sheer unholy joy of battle. You weren't an innocent, you know, all those years ago. You may not have killed in this lifetime but you certainly have in others."

"I never claimed be perfect," Iolaus replied, leaning against the railing behind him, the roar of the geyser echoing in his ears. "We all have evil in us, it's our nature. Surely you haven't forgotten old Zarathustra."

Dahak's face wrinkled up as if the stink of the geyser had suddenly increased tenfold. "I remember."

"Urge to create, urge to destroy. I'm not saying I don't have both within me, you proved that long ago. I'm just saying that the world needs to be in balance and that means that some of us need to be more creative than destructive. I like to think I am one of the good guys."

"You!" Dahak laughed. "What have you done in this life, Ian Andrew Farney, that you can point to and be proud of? You are a coward, hiding behind a suit and tie and a balance sheet."

Iolaus grinned as he straightened. "I was a coward, Dahak. I was hiding. But I'm out in the open now."

Dahak's eyes flashed red again. "Do you think you, an accountant, can take me? You haven't even drawn blood in this life. I, on the other, have gloried in violence, just like in the good old days."

"This life," whispered Iolaus, rocking forward to the balls of his feet, "is just a fraction of what I am. And in my other lives, I was capable of considerable violence, in a good cause. Not for the pleasure of it but because sometimes, even good men must resort to violence. I like to think, someday, we may really be civilized enough souls like mine won't be needed anymore but, for the moment, the world still needs a few warriors."

"Threatening me, are you? With what? A balanced spreadsheet?" Reaching into her jacket, the old woman pulled a gun out of hidden holster. "Modern technology," said Dahak, his thumb sliding the safety off, "is amazing. No levitating daggers necessary."

With one fluid motion, Iolaus sprang at Dahak. He knew he couldn't avoid the bullet that would split his heart as surely as the dagger had all those centuries ago. He also knew that on another plane, where physical bodies no longer mattered, he could defeat Dahak. Hercules was always with him, now, in one form or another, giving him the strength he would need to toss Dahak into the pit of destruction.

Fight he would, and win he would. He would toss Dahak down with no fear. Death no longer frightened him. And, Iolaus knew, there would be no body to be used, not after the boiling waters of the geyser did their work, so possession wasn't a fear either.

The bullet entered his breast at the same spot the dagger had, but with less pain. No one held Iolaus as his body died. Instead, Iolaus wrapped his arms around the frail body beside him and levered both of them over the railing and into the invisible mouth of the geyser roaring below.

That place outside of the real world. That creature that was Dahak in his most honest form. A woman, pale and wraithlike, urging Iolaus on. Hercules, indistinct but there, nonetheless, giving Iolaus the strength he needed. The creature, shrieking as it fell. Then, as always, the Light and Zarathustra welcoming him home. 

***

Joxer was acutely aware of the three pair of eyes staring at him as he listened to the voice on the other end of the phone.

"Uh-huh. Yeah. No, no indication. Probably just a bizarre accident. Yeah. Thanks. Thanks for everything."

He hung up the phone, taking a deep breath to steady himself before he turned around to face them. He couldn't look at Hercules, couldn't face the pain in the big guy's eyes, nor could he look at Gabrielle, her face red with weeping. Xena's gaze was almost always too much for him so he settled on the carpet between his feet.

"That was the guy from the Park Service." He swallowed, aware of the heavy silence in the room. "But you know that. He just confirmed what we were told earlier. Ian Farney was last seen driving to the geyser basin. Nobody knows what he was doing there in the middle of night. Nobody saw what happened, only that a bunch of tourists looking into the geyser the next morning saw. . ." He stopped. "You know what they saw."

Hercules made a strangled sound of agony, burying his face in his wife's embrace. 

"They're keeping the trail closed for a few more days, in case anything else surfaces. They can't figure how he fell into the geyser, the railing was undamaged, but they can't figure out any other explanation. I told them he wasn't depressed so they aren't figuring suicide but just some strange accident."

Gabrielle made a keening sound that brought Joxer over to her side in an instant, gathering her into his arms. She pressed her face against his chest, hiccuping her anguish.

"I knew something was wrong. From the way he looked at the tape. From the way he acted. I knew something was wrong and I just let him. . ." Her words were lost in sobs.

The doorbell rang, the sound so unexpected they all jumped, grief for an instant suspended. "I'll get it," Joxer muttered and went to the door. When he returned to the room, Gabrielle had moved to sit next to Xena and Hercules, her hands stroking his hair.

"It's from Ian."

They all looked up. Joxer held a flat package in his hands, the address clearly written in Ian's precise, accountant's hand. When no one offered to take it from him, Joxer sat down to slowly open the box.

Inside were two envelopes. On one, in the neat handwriting, in English, were the words "The Legal Stuff." On the other was scrawled a single word in Greek--the word 'why.' Joxer opened the first envelope and glanced at it.

"It's his will and a note that says. . ." He had to take a deep breath before he could read it. "It says 'let Joxer handle all the financial stuff.'"

Gabrielle made a strangled noise that might have been a laugh under different circumstances.

Joxer broke the seal on the second envelope. He tipped it up and out slid Iolaus' pendant. At the sight of it, Hercules began to weep again. Gabrielle leaned forward, picked up the pendant, touched it to her lips, then handed it to Hercules, who clutched it in one trembling hand.

Before he could read the words, Joxer had to wipe his eyes, blow his nose and get a glass of water. The others waited, still silent, still overwhelmed.

"If you are reading this, then I am dead again. Sorry, Herc. . ." Joxer took a sip of water before continuing. "Sorry, Herc, but I did what I had to do.

"Remember when we were talking by the pool house, about why we keep coming back, over and over. You thought it was to fight evil and you, as always, were right. In this life, unfortunately, the evil had a familiar name.

"You know now that I kept having that same dream, the dream of my death at his hands in Sumeria, every night. It took me a while to figure out why but now I realize it was obvious. It was his way of telling me I didn't want to suffer that agony again, his way of telling me to stay away.

"He made two mistakes, though. The first was in thinking I would be unwilling to make the ultimate sacrifice for the people I loved. The second was in showing me where he was.

"I don't know if he showed me to taunt me or if it truly was an error on his part, a piece of his mind seeping through unintentionally. But I saw that geyser in my dreams every night. Behind Gilgamesh, in the sky, where there was fire before, I saw that geyser, night after night, until I had it memorized. 

"He knew what I was in this life. He had made me that way. He didn't think I'd have the courage to come after him. I think he hoped I might tell one of you about it and then you would confront him and he could have your body, your soul. Then again, maybe he didn't realize that I was immune to him and hoped if I came to him, I could be taken again.  


"Whatever the reason, when I saw the geyser on the tape Gabrielle showed me, I knew where I could find him and I knew I had to go there and defeat him. He cannot be destroyed. He is destruction. But he can be forced back into the balance. That's what I have done.

"I knew he was getting stronger. I could feel it, every night. I knew he was close. I knew what I had to do and I knew if told any of you, you'd want to come along and I couldn't risk that. Especially you, Herc. You have a family. You need to be there to raise those children in a world in balance.

"So, being crazy little Iolaus, I went out and took on Dahak. . ." Joxer stopped. Just saying the name was painful.

Very softly, Hercules said, "Go on."

"I went out and took on Dahak. I'm not the warrior I once was so I am pretty sure I won't survive this encounter but I want all of you to remember three very important things.

"The first is that I love all of you. The past year and a half was the best I had in this life. Finding myself, finding you, made me happier than I thought was humanly possible. And if I had to squeeze all of our time together into one short period, it just made it all that more intense.

"The second is that I died doing what I am meant to do. I come back, we all come back, lifetime after lifetime, not just to enjoy each other's company but because the Power of Creation, that which balances Dahak, has given our souls a task and that task is to fight evil. It's what we do. It's why we exist. To deny our calling would be to deny our souls. In every way, be it working at the thrift store or the woman's shelter or donating all that money to charity and not taking the tax deduction for it. . .ah, part of that last bit is in English. I guess the words didn't exist in ancient Greek. Anyway, ahem, or just being examples of goodness, that is what we do.

"The third thing to remember is that I don't stay dead. Never could. I don't know how long it will be before I come back but I will come back. I promise. I will come back and we'll have a lifetime together, Herc, the way we're meant to. We'll meet when we're young and be back-to-back buddies, fighting the good fight, through as many lifetimes as it takes."

Joxer had to stop and blow his nose again. None of them were crying audibly, although tears ran down all their faces. Gabrielle had picked up the first page of Iolaus' letter that Joxer had discarded and started to reread it, running her hands lightly over the letters. How could Ian write so carefully and Iolaus have such lousy handwriting?

Joxer started again, his throat so tight from the tears he could barely speak. "I've left the medallion for you, Herc. I don't know why you always end up with my medallion but you do. Must be the half-god thing. Anyway, keep it and someday, in another life, you can give it back to me.

"Live this life, all of you, Hercules, Xena, Joxer, and Gabrielle, with all the joy you can manage. Remember me not in sorrow but in happiness. The Light is a blissful place to wait for rebirth and I know I will be reborn and we'll all be together again. Iolaus."

Hercules took the page from Gabrielle, holding it away from himself so that his tears didn't smear the ink. He held the letter in one hand and the medallion in the other, his face a classic mask of tragedy.

From the baby monitor came the sound of Hercules' son stirring in his crib.

"He' s still my hero," whispered Hercules before handing the precious items to his wife so he could go and hold the small, warm body of his child. "I have to remember to tell him that next time I see him."

***

Three boys, all wearing school uniforms, were walking along a low wall. Two of them had their arms extended to keep their balance but their leader, the smallest boy, the one with the bright fair hair, was walking as casually as if he were on the ground. 

"Someone's coming," hissed the boy in the back and all three leapt lightly to the walk below. Just as they landed, two adults and another boy came out of the main school building, the adults speaking together while the boy, tall, with straight brown hair, looked around. When he caught sight of the other students, he ducked his head as if embarrassed.

"Hey, Isaac," whispered the boy who had been in the back. "Fresh meat."  


Isaac, the fair-haired boy, had a peculiar look on his face. "Yeah." He stared intently at the new boy. "You guys go ahead. I'll take care of it."

Nudging each other and laughing, the other two boys ran under an archway and out of the courtyard.

"Oh, Isaac." One of the adults, obviously a teacher, frowned as the fair-haired boy approached. "Isaac Ericsson, this is a new student, Jason Holland."

"Nice to meet you," said Isaac politely, earning a sharp stare from the teacher.

"Um, yeah."

The teacher, still surprised by the fair-haired boy's behavior, explained, "Isaac is one of our fifth formers. Top in his class in a lot of subjects. Very bright boy. His mother is Commander Ericsson."

The mention of his mother's name made Isaac scowl for an instant, although he quickly schooled his expression into one of cheerful acquiescence.

"Mr. McCready, I'd be happy to show Jason around."

The teacher still looked suspicious but shrugged and said, "I think that would be a good idea, Isaac."

Jason gave his mother a brief look of panic. She smiled, brushing his hair back. "I'm sure Isaac is a very nice boy, Jason. You go with him." Then she turned to Isaac and, while she was still smiling, gave him a penetrating look that contained both the message that she was grateful to him for the kindness he was showing her son but if he had some ulterior motive in mind, he would regret it. Isaac nodded his head quickly in return, than grasped the other boy's arm.

"C'mon, Jason."

The larger boy followed the smaller one uncertainly. He was worried. Why would the son of the commander of the whole Mars mission, a boy who was two classes ahead of Jason, want to be friends with the him? He barely had time to consider the question as the older boy was babbling cheerfully.

"The Academy isn't as bad as it could be. Some of the teachers are real wankers but some of them are almost toasty. Some of the other students are burners, too. I've been here for three years. You stick with me and I'll show you the ropes."

"Isaac." 

The younger boy slowed his steps as he realized his mother and the teacher had left him. He intentionally fell behind the older boy.

"What?"

Jason had dropped his head and was staring at the intricate tile pattern of the courtyard floor. Isaac, short as he was in comparison, still had to bend his head to look into the younger boy's face. 

"Um, you don't have to be nice to me just to impress the teacher."

"Is that what you think?" The older boy grinned, a smile that was so incandescent Jason felt warmed by it. "Why would I want to impress McCready? He only deals with third formers."

"I'm going to be third form."

"I know. So, Jason, that's a burn name by the way."

"It is?" Jason looked up at the unexpected endorsement. He found the older boy staring at him with such intensity his surprise increased. Still, he didn't feel afraid or even uncomfortable around this boy, the way he did with most people he met. There was something reassuring in that smile, in those shining azure eyes.

"Sure. You know, Jason and Argonauts. Jason and the Golden Fleece. He was a great hero, was Jason."

The younger boy shuffled his feet and finally managed a faint smile for the older student. "Yeah but most people don't know about that."

"I do." Isaac nudged him sharply in the ribs with an elbow. "I'm studying the classics as my minor. Even taking Greek lessons." 

Jason's own blue eyes went wide. "You can do that here? I've always been interested and wanted to learn more but had to do all the reading and stuff on my own."

"Sure. The Academy is big on individualized study." Isaac's grin took on an impish tone. "Plus it drives them crazy! No one here knows a thing about that kind of stuff so they have to send to Earth and get me tutors and specialized texts and junk. And none of them really have any idea if I'm learning anything or not!"

"Are you?"

For an instant, the grin vanished. "Yes," replied Isaac seriously, "I am. It really is important to me."

"I'd like to study the classics, too. Do you think they'd let me?"

"Sure they would. We could be study partners. I could help you with the stuff I've already learned."

"Really?"

This glowing, cheerful boy was stunning Jason with his open acceptance. Always shy, Jason never made friends easily and was delighted at how quickly he was beginning to like Isaac.

"Really." Isaac extended his right hand as if to shake Jason's. When Jason hesitantly returned the gesture, he was puzzled when the older boy, rather than taking his hand, gripped his arm firmly between elbow and wrist. Automatically, Jason returned the grip.

"Is that some secret school handshake?" Jason asked as Isaac released his arm. He could still feel those fingers, strong for their size, wrapped around his forearm.

Isaac shook his head. "Nope. That's just a secret handshake between you and me."

"Why?"

In spite of their difference in height, Isaac threw his arm around Jason's shoulders. "Because, my boy, you and I are going to be great friends."

And for some reason, Jason was absolutely certain it was true.

"So," Isaac said as he led his new old friend across the courtyard, "have you ever considered that maybe those ancient myths were at least, in part, based on real people?"

"You mean there really was a Jason."

"And a Hercules. And an Iolaus."

"Who?"

Isaac laughed. "Boy, do I have a lot to tell you. But I bet you'll catch on. Do you ever have dreams about stuff like that, fighting monsters and battles and that kind of thing?" He pulled his arm away from Jason's shoulders, dropped into a crouch and mimed the thrust of a sword at an invisible enemy.

"Um, yeah. How'd you know?"

"I told you." The older boy's grin was so broad it was a wonder his face didn't split in two. "We're going to be great friends and there is a reason for that. Let me tell you all about it."

 

Amorette  
July 2000


End file.
